Jane Eyre

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Jane Eyre

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BY CilAKLG, BRONTE.

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JANE EYRE.

TO

W. M. THACKERAY, ESQ

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

BY

'HIE AUTHOR.

Jane Eyre.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

By CURRER BELL,

AUTHOR OF "SHIRLEY," " VILLETTE," "THE rROFESSOR," &C. &C.

LONDON:

W. NICHOLSON & SONS, Limited,

2 6, PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E.C.,

AND ALBION WORKS, WAKEFIELD.

PREFACE.

A preface to the First Edition of "Jane Eyre" being un-
necessary, I gave none: this Edition demands a few
words both of acknowledgment and miscellaneous remark.

My thanks are due in three quarters.

To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has inclined to a
plain tale with few pretensions.

To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage has
opened to an obscure aspirant.

The Press and the Public are but vague personifications for
me, and I must thank them in vague terms. Certain generous
critics who have encouraged me as only large-hearted and high-
minded men know how to encourage a struggling stranger ; to
them, and the select Reviewers, 1 say cordially, Gentlemen, I
thank you from my heart.

Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have
aided and approved me, I turn to another class ; a small one,
so far as I know, but not, therefore, to be overlooked. I mean
the timorous or carping few who doubt the tendency of such
books as "Jane Eyre:" in whose eyes whatever is unusual is
wrong ; whose ears detect in each protest against bigotry — that
parent of crime — an insult to piety, that regent of God on
earth. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious
distinctions ; I would remind them of certain simple truths.

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not
religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To
pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift
an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns.

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are
as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound
them: they should not be confounded: appearance should not
be mistaken for truth : narrow human doctrines, that only tend

PREFACE.

to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the
world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is — I repeat it — a
difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark
broadly and clearly the line of separation between them.

The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it
has been accustomed to blend them ; finding it convenient to
make external show pass for sterling worth — to let white-
washed walls vouch for clean shrines. It may hate him who
dares to scrutinise and expose — to rase the gilding, and show
base metal under it — to penetrate the sepulchre, and reveal
charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him.

Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied
good concerning him, but evil : probably he liked the sycophant
son of Chenaannah better; yet might Ahab have escaped a
bloody death, had he but stopped his ears to flattery, and
opened them to faithful counsel.

There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed
to tickle delicate ears : who, to my thinking, comes before the
great ones of society, much as the son of lmlah came before
the throned Kings of Judah and Israel ; and who speaks truth
as deep, with a power as prophet-like and as vital — a mien as
dauntless and as daring. Is the satirist of "Vanity Fair"
admired in high places ? I cannot tell ; but I think if some
of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his sarcasm,
and over whom he flashes the levinbrand of his denunciation,
were to take his warnings in time — they or their seed might
yet escape a fatal Ramoth Gilead.

Why have I alluded to this man ? I have alluded to him,
Reader, because I think I see in him an intellect profounder
and more unique than his contemporaries have yet recognised,
because I regard him as the first social regenerator of the
day — as the very master of that working corps who would
restore to rectitude the warped system of things ; because I
think no commentator on his writings has yet found the com-
parison that suits him, the terms which rightly characterise
his talent. They say he is like Fielding : they talk of his wit,
humour, comic powers. He resembles Fielding as an eagle
does a vulture : Fielding could stoop on carrion, but Thackeray
never does. His wit is bright, his humour attractive, but both
bear the same relation to his serious genius, that the mere
lambent sheet-lightning playing under the edge of the summer-
cloud, does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb.
Finally, I have alluded to Mr. Thackeray, because to him— if
he will accept the tribute of a total stranger — I have dedicated
this Edition of "Jane Eyre."

CURRER BELL.
December 21 si, 1847.

JANE EYRE

CHAPTER I.

THERE was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We
had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an
hour in the morning- ; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there
was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought
with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further
outdoor exercise was now out of the question.

I was glad of it; I never liked long walks, especially on
chilly afternoons : dreadful to me was the coming home in the
raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened
by the cnidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the
consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and
Georgiana Reed.

The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round
their mamma in the drawing-room : she lay reclined on a sofa by
the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neither
quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly happy. Me she had
dispensed from joining the group; saying, " She regretted to be
under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until
she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation
that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more
sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly
manner— something lighter, franker, more natural as it were—
she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for
contented, happy, little children."

" What does Bessie say I have done ?" I asked.

"Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners: besides, there is
something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that
manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak
pleasantly, remain silent."

A small breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped
in there. It contained a book-case : I soon possessed myself of
a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures.
I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat
cross-legged, like a Turk ; and, having drawn the red moreen
curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.

8 JANE EYRE.

Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand ; to
the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not
separating me from the drear November day. At intervals,
while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of
that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and
cloud ; near, a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with
ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lament-
able blast.

I returned to my book — Bewick's History of British Birds : the
letterpress thereof I cared little for, generally speaking ; and yet
there were certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I
could not pass quite as a blank. They were those which treat of
the haunts of sea-fowl ; of " the solitary rocks and promontories"
by them only inhabited ; of the coast of Norway, studded with
isles from its southern extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the
North Cape —

"Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls,
Boils round the naked, melancholy isles
Of farthest Thule ; and the Atlantic surge
Pours in among the stormy Hebrides. "

Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of
Lapland, Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland,
with "the vast sweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn
regions of dreary space — that reservoir of frost and snow, where
firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries of winters, glazed
in Alpine heights above heights, surround the pole, and
concentre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold." Of these
death-white realms I formed an idea of my own : shadowy, like
all the half-comprehended notions that float dim through chil-
dren's brains, but strangely impressive. The words in these
introductory pages connected themselves with the succeeding
vignettes, and gave significance to the rock standing up alone in
a sea of billow and spray ; to the broken boat stranded on a
desolate coast ; to the cold and ghastly moon glancing through
bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking.

I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary church-
yard, with its inscribed headstone ; its gate, its two trees, its low
horizon, girdled by a broken wall, and its newly risen crescent,
attesting the hour of eventide.

The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be
marine phantoms.

The fiend pinning down the thief s pack behind him, I passed
over quickly ; it was an object of terror.

So was the black, horned thing seated aloof on a rock,
surveying a distant crowd surrounding a gallows.

Each picture told a story ; mysterious often to my undeveloped
understanding and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly
interesting: as interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes
narrated on winter evening-s. when site chanced to be in good

JANE EYRE. 9

humour; and when, having brought her ironing-table to the
nursery-hearth, she allowed us to sit about it, and while she got
up Mrs. Reed's lace frills, and crimped her night-cap borders,
fed our eager attention with passages of love and adventure
taken from old fairy tales and older ballads; or (as at a later
period I discovered) from the pages of Pamela, and Henry, Earl
of Moreland.

With Bewick on my knee, I was then happy : happy at least
in ray way. I feared nothing but interruption, and that came too
soon. The breakfast- room door opened.

" Boh 1 Madam Mope 1" cried the voice of John Reed ; then
he paused : he found the room apparently empty.

"Where the dickens is she?" he continued. "Lizzy!
Georgy ! (calling to his sisters) Joan is not here : tell mamma
she is run out into the rain — bad animal !"

"It is well I drew the curtain," thought I, and I wished
fervently he might not discover my hiding-place: nor would
John Reed have found it out himself; he was not quick either of
vision or conception ; but Eliza just put her head in at the door,
and said at once : " She is in the window-seat to be sure, Jack."

And I came out immediately, for I trembled at the idea of
being dragged forth by the said Jack.

" What do you want ?" I asked, with awkward diffidence.

"Say, 'what do you want, Master Reed,'" was the answer.
"I want you to come here;" and seating himself in an arm-
chair, he intimated by a gesture that I was to approach and
stand before him.

John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old; four years
olaer than I, for I was but ten ; large and stout for his age, with
a dingy and unwholesome skin ; thick lineaments in a spacious
visage, heavy limbs and large extremities. He gorged himself
habitually at table, which made him bilious, and gave him a dim
and bleared eye and flabby cheeks. He ought now to have been
at school ; but his mamma had taken him home for a month or
two, " on account of his delicate health." Mr. Miles, the
master, affirmed that he would do very well if he had fewer cakes
and sweetmeats sent him from home ; but the mother's heart
turned from an opinion so harsh, and inclined rather to the more
refined idea that John's sallowness was owing to over-application
and, perhaps, to pining after home.

John had not much affection for his mother and sisters, and an
antipathy to me. He bullied and punished me ; not two or three
times in the week, nor once or twice in a day, but continually:
every nerve I had feared him, and every morsel of flesh on my
bones shrank when he came near. There were moments when I
was bewildered by the terror he inspired, because I had no
appeal whatever against either his menaces or his inflictions;
the servants did not like to offend their young master by taking
my part against him, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the
subject: she never saw him strike or heard him abuse me,

10 JANE EYRE.

though he did both now and then in her very presence ; more
frequently, however, behind her back.

Habitually obedient to John, I came up to his chair : he spent
some three minutes in thrusting out his tongue at me as far as he
could without damaging the roots : I knew he would soon strike,
and while dreading the blow, I mused on the disgusting and
ugly appearance of him who would presently deal it. I wonder
if he read that notion in my face ; for, all at once, without speak-
ing, he struck suddenly and strongly. I tottered, and on
regaining my equilibrium retired back a step or two from his
chair.

"That is for your impudence in answering mamma awhile
since," said he, "and for your sneaking way of getting behind
curtains, and for the look you had in your eyes two minutes
since, you rat I"

Accustomed to John Reed's abuse, I never had an idea of
replying to it ; my care was how to endure the blow which would
certainly follow the insult.

"What were you doing behind the curtain ?" he asked.

" I was reading."

" Show the book."

I returned to the window and fetched it thence.

' You have no business to take our books ; you are a dependent,
mamma says ; you have no money ; your father left you none ;
you ought to beg, and not to live here with gentlemen's children
like us, and eat the same meals we do, and wear clothes at our
mamma's expense. Now I'll teach you to rummage my book-
shelves : for they are mine ; all the house belongs to me, or will
do in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of the way of
the mirror and the windows."

I did so, not at first aware what was his intention ; but when I
saw him lift and poise the book and stand in act to hurl it, I
instinctively started aside with a cry of alarm : not soon enough,
however ; the volume was flung, it hit me, and I fell, striking my
head against the door and cutting it. The cut bled, the pain
was sharp: my terror had passed its climax; other feelings
succeeded.

" Wicked and cruel boy !" I said. "You are like a murderer
— you are like a slave driver — you are like the Roman emperors!"

I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome, and had formed my
opinion of Nero, Caligula, &c. Also I had drawn parallels in
silence, which I never thought thus to have declared aloud.

"What! what!" he cried. "Did she say that tome? Did
you hear her, Eliza and Georgiana ? Won't I tell mamma ?
but first "

He ran headlong at me : I felt him grasp my hair and my
shoulder : he had closed with a desperate thing. I really saw
in him a tyrant : a murderer. I felt a drop or two of blood from
my head trickle down my neck, and was sensible of somewhat
pungent suffering; these sensations for the time predominated

JANE EYRE. XI

over fear, and I received him in frantic sort. I don't very well
know what I did with my hands, but he called me " Rat 1 rat !"
and bellowed out aloud. Aid was near hira: Eliza and
Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed, who was gone upstairs ; she
now came upon the scene, followed by Bessie and her maid
Abbot. We were parted : I heard the words :

" Dear 1 dear 1 What a fury to fly at Master John 1"
" Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion !"
Then Mrs. Reed subjoined : " Take her away to the red-room,
and lock her in there." Four hands were immediately laid upon
me, and I was borne upstairs.

CHAPTER II.

I RESISTED all the way: a new thing for me, and a circum
stance which greatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie
and Miss Abbot were disposed to entertain of me. The fact is,
I was a little trifle beside myself; or rather out of myself, as the
French would say : I was conscious that a moment's mutiny had
already rendered me liable to strange penalties, and, like any
other rebel slave, I felt resolved, in my desperation, to go all
lengths.

" Hold her arms, Miss Abbot : she's like a mad cat."

"For shame, for shame 1" cried the lady's maid. "What
shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your
benefactress's son ! Your young master."

" Master 1 How is he my master? Am I a servant ?"

" No ; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your
keep. There, sit down, and think over your wickedness."

They had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by
Mrs. Reed, and had thrust me upon a stool : my impulse was to
rise from it like a spring ; their two pair of hands arrested me
instantly.

"If you don't sit still, you must be tied down," said Bessie.
"Miss Abbot, lend me your garters; she would break mine
directly."

Miss Abbot ^urned to divest a stout leg of the necessary
ligature. This preparation for bonds, and the additional igno-
miny it inferred, took a little of the excitement out of me.

" Don't take them off," I cried ; " I will not stir."

In guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my
hands.

"Mind you don't," said Bessie; and when she had ascer-
tained that I was really subsiding, she loosened her hold of me ;
then she and Miss Abbot stood with folded arms, looking darkly
and doubtfully on my face, as incredulous of my sanity.

12 JANE EYRE.

"She never did so before," at last, said Bessie, turning to the
Abigail.

" But it was always in her," was the reply. " I've told Missis
often my opinion about the child, and Missis agreed with me.
She's an underhand little thing: I never saw a girl of her age
with so much cover."

Bessie answered not ; but ere long, addressing me, she said :

"You ought to be aware, Miss, that you are under obligations
to Mrs. Reed : she keeps you : if she were to turn you off you
would have to go to the poor-house."

I had nothing to say to these words : they were not new to me :
my very first recollections of existence included hints of the same
kind. This reproach of my dependence had become a vague
sing-song in my ear ; very painful and crushing, but only half
intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in :

"And you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the
Misses Reed and Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you
to be brought up with them. They will have a great deal of
money and you will have none : it is your place to be humble,
and try to make yourself agreeable to them."

"What we tell you is for your good," added Bessie, in no
harsh voice: "you should try to be useful and pleasant, then,
perhaps, you would have a home here ; but if you become pas-
sionate and rude, Missis will send you away, I am sure."

"Besides," said Miss Abbot, "God will punish her: He
might strike her dead in the midst of her tantrums, and then
where would she go ? Come, Bessie, we will leave her : I
wouldn't have her heart for anything. Say your prayers, Miss
Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don't repent, some-
thing bad might be permitted to come down the chimney and
fetch you away."

They went, shutting the door, and locking it behind them.

The red-room was a spare chamber, very seldom slept in : I
might say never, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors
at Gateshead Hall rendered it necessary to turn to account all
the accommodation it contained : yet it was one of the largest
and stateliest chambers in the mansion. A bed supported on
massive . pillars of mahogany, hung with curtains of deep red
damask, stood out like a tabernacle in the centre, the two large
windows, with their blinds always drawn down, were half
shrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery; the carpet
was red ; the table at the foot of the bed was covered with a
crimson cloth ; the walls were a soft fawn colour, with a blush of
pink in it ; the wardrobe, the toilet table, the chairs, were of
darkly polished old mahogany. Out of these deep surrounding
shades rose high, and glared white, the piled-up mattresses and
pillows of the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles counterpane.
Scarcely less prominent was an ample cushioned easy-chair near
the head of the bed, also white, with a footstool before it, and
looking as I thought, like a pale throne.

JANE EYRE. 13

This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire; it was
silent, because remote from the nursery and kitchens ; solemn,
because it was known to be so seldom entered. The housemaid
alone came here on Saturdays, to wipe from the mirrors and the
furniture a week's quiet dust: and Mrs. Reed herself, at far
intervals, visited it to review the contents of a certain secret
drawer in the wardrobe, where were stored divers parchments,
her iewel-casket, and a miniature of her deceased husband : and
in those last words lies the secret of the red-room— the spell
which kept it so lonely in spite of its grandeur.

Mr. Reed had been dead nine years : it was in this chamber
he breathed his last ; here he lay in state ; hence his coffin was
borne by the undertaker's men ; and, since that day, a sense of
dreary consecration had guarded it from freauent intrusion.

My seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot had left
me riveted, was a low ottoman near the marble chimney-piece ;
the bed rose before me ; to my right hand there was the high,
dark wardrobe, with subdued, broken reflections varying the
gloss of its panels ; to my left were the muffled windows ; a
great looking-glass between them repeated the vacant majesty of
the bed and room. I was not quite sure whether they had
locked the door ; and, when I dared move, I got up and went to
see. Alas ! yes : no jail was ever more secure. Returning, I
had to cross before the looking-glass; my fascinated glance
involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked colder
and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality: and the
strange little figure there gazing at me, with a white face and
arms specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving
where all else was still, had the effect of a real spirit : I thought
it like one of the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's
evening stories represented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in
moors, and appearing before the eyes of belated travellers. I
returned to my stool.

Superstition was with me at that moment ; but it was not yet
her hour for complete victory : my blood was still warm ; the
mood of the revolted slave was still bracing me with its bitter
vigour; I had to stem a rapid rush of retrospective thought
before I quailed to the dismal present.

All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters' proud indif-
ference, all his mother's aversion, all the servants 1 partiality,
turned up in my disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid
well. Why was I always suffering, always browbeaten, always
accused, lor ever condemned? Why could I never please?
Why was it useless to try to win any one's favour? Eliza, who
was headstrong and selfish, was respected. Georgiana, who
had a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious and insolent
carriage, was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pink
cheeks and golden curls, seemed to give delight to all who
looked at her, and to purchase indemnity for every fault. John
no one thwarted, much less punished; though he twistea the

14 JANE EYRE.

necks of the pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks, set the dogs at
the sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit, and broke
the buds off the choicest plants in the conservatory ; he called
his mother " old girl," too; sometimes reviled her for her dark
skin, similar to his own; bluntly disregarded her wishes; not
unfrequently tore and spoiled her silk attire ; and he was still
"her own darling." I dared commit no fault : I strove to fulfil
every duty ; and I was termed naughty and tiresome, sullen and
sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon to night.

My head still ached and bled with the blow and fall I had
received : no one had reproved John for wantonly striking me ;
and because I had turned against him to avert farther irrational
violence, I was loaded with general opprobrium.

"Unjust! — unjust!" said my reason, forced by the agonising
stimulus into precocious though transitory power ; and Resolve,
equally wrought up, instigated some strange expedient to achieve
escape from insupportable oppression — as running away, or, if
that could not be effected, never eating or drinking more, and
letting myself die.

What a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon !
How all my brain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection !
Yet in what darkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental
battle fought ! I could not answer the ceaseless inward question
— why I thus suffered ; now, at the distance of — I will not say
how many years — I see it clearly.

I was a discord in Gateshead Hall ; I was like nobody there ;
I had nothing in harmony with Mrs. Reed or her children, or her
chosen vassalage. If they did not love me, in fact, as little did
I love them. They were not bound to regard with affection a
thing that could not sympathise with one amongst them; a
heterogeneous thing, opposed to them in temperament, in
capacity, in propensities ; a useless thing, incapable of serving
their interest, or adding to their pleasure; a noxious thing,
cherishing the germs of indignation at their treatment, of con-
tempt of their judgment. I know that had I been a sanguine,
brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, romping child — though
equally dependent and friendless — Mrs. Reed would have
endured my presence more complacently; her children would
have entertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling ;
the servants would have been less prone to make me the scape-
goat of the nursery.

Daylight began to forsake the red-room ; it was past four
o'clock, and the beclouded afternoon was tending to drear
twilight. I heard the rain still beating continuously on the
staircase window, and the wind howling in the grove behind the
hall ; I grew by degrees cold as a stone, and then my courage
sank. My habitual mood of humiliation, self-doubt, forlorn
depression, fell damp on the embers of my decaying ire. All
said I was wicked, and perhaps I might be so: what
thought had I been but just conceiving of starving myself to

JANE EYRE. 15

death ? That certainly was a crime : and was I fit to die ?
Or was the vault under the chancel of Gateshead Church an
inviting- bourne ? In such vault I had been told did Mr. Reed
lie buried ; and led by this thought to recall his idea, I dwelt on
it with gathering dread. I could not remember him; but I
knew that he was my own uncle — my mother's brother — that he
had taken me when a parentless infant to his house ; and that
in his last moments he had required a promise of Mrs. Reed
that she would rear and maintain me as one of her own
children. Mrs. Reed probably considered she had kept this
promise; and so she had, I dare say, as well as her nature
would permit her ; but how could she really like an interloper,
not of hier race, and unconnected with her, after her husband's
death, by any tie ? It must have been most irksome to find
herself bound by a hard-wrung pledge to stand in the stead of a
parent to a strange child she could not love, and to see an
uncongenial alien permanently intruded on her own family group.
A singular notion dawnea upon me. I doubted not — never
doubted — that if Mr. Reed had been alive he would have
treated me kindly ; and now, as I sat looking at the white bed
and overshadowed walls— occasionally also turning a fascinated
eye towards the dimly gleaming mirror — I began to recall what
I had heard of dead men, troubled in their graves by the viola-
tion of their last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish the per-
jured and avenge the oppressed: and I thought Mr. Reed's
spirit, harassed by the wrongs of his sister's child, might quit its
abode — whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of
the departed — and rise before me in this chamber. I wiped my
tears and hushed my sobs, fearful lest any sign of outward grief*
might waken a preternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from
the gloom some haloed face, bending over me with strange pity.
This idea, consolatory in theory, I felt would be terrible if
realised : with all my might I endeavoured to stifle it— I endea-
voured to be firm. Shaking my hair from my eyes, I lifted my
head and tried to look boldly round the dark room: at this
moment a light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself,
a ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind ?
No ; moonlight was still, and this stirred ; while I gazed, it
glided up to the ceiling and quivered over my head. I can
now conjecture readily that this streak of light was, in all like-
lihood, a gleam from a lantern, carried by some one across the
lawn ; but then, prepared as my mind was for horror, shaken as
my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swift-darting beam
was a herald of some coming vision from another world. My
heart beat thick, my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears,
which I deemed the rushing of wings : something seemed near
me ; I was oppressed, suffocated : endurance broke down ; I
rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort. Steps
came running along the outer passage ; the Key was turned, and
Bessie and Abbot entered.

l6 JANE EYRE.

" Miss Eyre, are you ill ?" said Bessie.

"What a dreadful noise! It went quite through mel"
exclaimed Abbot.

" Take me out ! Let me go into the nursery !" was my cry.

"What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?"
again demanded Bessie.

" Oh ! I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would come." I
had now got hold of Bessie's hand, and she did not snatch it
from me.

" She has screamed out on purpose," declared Abbot, in some
disgust. " And what a scream ! If she had been in great pain
one would have excused it, but she only wanted to bring us all
here : I know her naughty tricks."

"What is all this?" demanded another voice, peremptorily;
and Mrs. Reed came along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her
gown rustling stormily. "Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave
orders that Jane Eyre should be left in the red-room till I came
to her myself."

" Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma'am," pleaded Bessie.

" Let her go," was the only answer. "Loose Bessie's hand,
child: you cannot succeed in getting out by these means, be
assured. I abhor artifice, particularly in children ; it is my duty
to show you that tricks will not answer : you will now stay
here an hour longer, and it is only on condition of perfect
submission and stillness that I shall liberate you then."

" Oh, aunt ! have pity ! Forgive me ! I cannot endure it — let
me be punished some other way ! — I shall be killed if "

" Silence ! This violence is most repulsive :" and so, no doubt,
she felt it. I was a precocious actress in her eyes ; she sincerely
looked on me as a compound of virulent passions, mean spirit,
and dangerous duplicity.

Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of
my now frantic anguish and wild sobs, abruptly thrust me back
and locked me in, without further parley. I heard her sweeping
away ; and soon after she was gone, I suppose I had a species of
fit : unconsciousness closed the scene.

CHAPTER III.

THE next thing 1 remember is, waking up with a feeling as if
I had had a frightful nightmare, and seeing before me a
terrible red glare, crossed with thick black bars. I heard voices,
too, speaking with a hollow sound, and as if muffled by rush of
wind or water : agitation, uncertainty, and an all-predominating
sense of terror confused my faculties. Ere long, I became aware
that some one was handling me ; lifting me up and supporting

JANE EYRE. 1J

me in a sitting posture, and that more tenderly than I had ever
been raised or upheld before. I rested my head against a pillow
or an arm, and felt easy.

In five minutes more, the cloud of bewilderment dissolved : I
knew quite well that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare
was the nursery fire. It was night : a candle burnt on the table :
Bessie stood at the bed-foot with a basin in her hand, and a
gentleman sat in a chair near my pillow, leaning over me.

I felt an inexpressible relief, a soothing conviction of protection
and security, when I knew that there was a stranger in the room,
an individual not belonging to Gateshead, and not related to Mrs.
Reed. Turning from Bessie (though her presence was far less
obnoxious to me than that of Abbot, for instance, would have
been), I scrutinised the face of the gentleman : I knew him ; it
was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary, sometimes called in by Mrs.
Reed when the servants were ailing : for herself and the children
she employed a physician.

" Well, who am I ?" he asked.

I pronounced his name, offering at the same time my hand :
he took it, smiling and saying, " We shall do very well by-and-
by." Then he laid me down, and addressing Bessie, charged
her to be very careful that I was not disturbed during the night.
Having given some further directions, and intimated that he
should call again the next day, he departed, to my grief: I felt
so sheltered and befriended while he sat in the chair near my
pillow ; and as he closed the door after him, all the room
darkened and my heart again sank: inexpressible sadness
weighed it down.

"Do you feel as if you should sleep, Miss?" asked Bessie,
rather softly.

Scarcely dared I answer her, for I feared the next sentence
might be rough. " I will try."

" Would you like to drink, or could you eat anything?"

"No, thank you, Bessie."

" Then I think I shall go to bed, for it is past twelve o'clock ;
but you may call me if you want anything in the night."

Wonderful civility this 1 It emboldened me to ask a question.

" Bessie, what is the matter with me ? Am I ill ?"

"You fell sick, I suppose, in the red-room with crying; you'll
be better soon, no doubt."

Bessie went into the housemaid's apartment which was near.
I heard her say :

" Sarah, come and sleep with me in the nursery ; I daren't for
my life be alone with that poor child to-night; she might die;
it's such a strange thing she should have that fit: I wonder if
she saw anything. Missis was rather too hard."

Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed ; they were
whispering together for half an hour before they fell asleep. I
caught scraps of their conversation, from which I was able only
too distinctly to infer the main subject discussed.

D

l8 JANE EYRE.

" Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished"
— " A great black dog behind him" — "Three loud raps on the
chamber door" — "A light in the churchyard just over his
grave" — &c. &c.

At last both slept ; the fire and the candle went out. For me,
the watches of that long night passed in ghastly wakefulness ;
ear, eye, and mind were alike strained by dread, such dread as
children only can feel.

No severe or prolonged bodily illness followed this incident of
the red-room : it only gave my nerves a shock, of which I feel
the reverberation to this day. Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe
some fearful pangs of mental suffering. But I ought to forgive
you, for you knew not what you did : while rending my
heart-strings, you thought you were only uprooting my bad
propensities.

Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped in
a shawl by the nursery hearth. I felt physically weak and
broken down : but my worst ailment was an unutterable wretch-
edness of mind : a wretchedness which kept drawing from me
silent tears. No sooner had I wiped one salt drop from my
cheek than another followed. Yet I thought I ought to have
been happy, for none of the Reeds were there — they were all
gone out in the carnage with their mamma. Abbot, too, was
sewing in another room, and Bessie, as she moved hither and
thither, putting away toys and arranging drawers, addressed to
me every now and then a word of unwonted kindness. This
state of things should have been to me a paradise of peace,
accustomed as I was to a life of ceaseless reprimand and thank-
less fagging ; but, in fact, my racked nerves were now in such a
state that no calm could soothe, and no pleasure excite them
agreeably.

Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she brought up
with her a tart on a certain brightly painted china plate, whose
bird of paradise, nestling in a wreath of convolvuli and rosebuds,
had been wont to stir in me a most enthusiastic sense of admira-
tion ; and which plate I had often petitioned to be allowed to
take in my hand in order to examine it more closely, but had
always hitherto been deemed unworthy of such a privilege. This
precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I was cordially
invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry upon it. Vain favour !
coming like most other favours long deferred and often wished
for, too late ! I could not eat the tart : and the plumage of the
bird, the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded ! I put
both plate and tart away. Bessie asked if I would have a book :
the word book acted as a transient stimulus, and I begged her to
fetch Gulliver's Travels from the library. This book I had again
and again perused with delight. I considered it a narrative of
facts, and discovered in it a vein of interest deeper than what I
found in fairy tales : for as to the elves, having sought them in
vain among foxglove leaves and bells, under mushrooms, and

JANE EYRE. ig

beneath the ground-ivy mantling- old wall-nooks, I had at length
made up my mind to the sad truth, that they were all gone out of
England to some savage country where the woods were wilder
and thicker, and the population more scant; whereas, Liliput
and Brobdingnag being, in my creed, solid parts of the earth's
surface, I doubted not that I might one day, by taking a long
voyage, see with my own eyes the little fields, houses, and trees,
the diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birds of the one
realm ; and the cornfields forest-high, the mighty mastiffs, the
monster cats, the tower-like men and women of the other. Yet,
when the cherished volume was now placed in my hand — when I
turned over its leaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the
charm I had, till now, never failed to find— all was eerie and
dreary; the giants were gaunt goblins, the pigmies malevolent
and fearful imps, Gulliver a most desolate wanderer in most dread
and dangerous regions. I closed the book, which I dared no
longer peruse, and put it on the table beside the untasted tart.

Bessie had now finished dusting and tidying the room, and,
having washed her hands, she opened a certain little drawer, full
of splendid shreds of silk and satin, and began making a new
bonnet for Georgiana's doll. Meantime she sang: her song
was —

" In the days when we went gipsying,
A long time ago."

I had often heard the song before, and always with lively
delight; for Bessie had a sweet voice — at least, I thought so.
But now, though her voice was still sweet, 1 found in its melody
an indescribable sadness. Sometimes, preoccupied with her
work, she sang the refrain very low, very lingerly : " A long time
ago " came out like the saddest cadence of a funeral hymn. She
passed into another ballad, this time a really doleful one.

" My feet they arc sore, and my limbs they are weary ;
Long is the way, and the mountains are wild ;
Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary
Over the path of the poor orphan child.

" Why did they send me so far and so lonely,

. Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled ?
Men are hard-hearted, and kind angels only
Watch o'er the steps of a poor orphan child.

" Yet distant and soft the night-breeze is blowing,

Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild ;
God, in His mercy, protection is showing,
Comfort and hoj>e to the poor orphan child.

" Ev'n should I fall o'er the broken bridge passing,
Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled,
Still will my Father, with promise and blessing,
Take to His bosom the poor orphan child.

20 JANE EYRE.

" There is a thought that for strength should avail me J
Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled ;
Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me ;
God is a friend to the poor orphan child. "

"Come, Miss Jane, don't cry," said Bessie, as she finished.
She might as well have said to the fire, " Don't burn !" but how
could she divine the morbid suffering to which I was a prey ? In
the course of the morning Mr. Lloyd came again.

"What, already up!" said he, as he entered the nursery.
" Well, nurse, how is she ?"

Bessie answered that I was doing very well.

"Then she ought to look more cheerful. Come here, Miss
Jane : your name is Jane, is it not ?"

"Yes, sir; Jane Eyre."

"Well, you have been crying, Miss Jane Eyre: can you tell
me what about ? Have you any pain ?"

"No, sir."

"Oh ! I daresay she is crying because she could not go out
with Missis in the carriage," interposed Bessie.

" Surely not ! why, she is too old for such pettishness."

I thought so too ; and my self-esteem being wounded by the
false charge, I answered promptly, " I never cried for such a
thing in my life : I hate going out in the carriage. I cry
because I am miserable."

" Oh fie, Miss !" said Bessie.

The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled, I was standing
before him : he fixed his eyes on me very steadily : his eyes were
small and grey ; not very bright, but I daresay I should think
them shrewd now : he had a hard-featured yet good-natured
looking face. Having considered me at leisure, he said : " What
made you ill yesterday !"

" She had a fall," said Bessie, again putting in her word.

" Fall ! why that is like a baby again ! Can't she manage to
walk at her age ? She must be eight or nine years old."

"I was knocked down," was the blunt explanation, jerked
out of me by another pang of mortified pride ; " but that did not
make me ill," I added; while Mr. Lloyd helped himself to a
pinch of snuff.

As he was returning the box to his waistcoat-pocket, a loud
bell rang for the servant's dinner, he knew what it was. " That's
for you, nurse," said he; "you can go down; I'll give Miss
Jane a lecture till you come back."

Bessie would rather have stayed, but she was obliged to go,
because punctuality at meals was rigidly enforced at Gateshead
Hall.

" The fall did not make you ill ; what did, then ?" pursued Mr.
Lloyd, when Bessie was gone.

" I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost, till after
dark."

JANE EYRE. 21

I saw Mr. Lloyd smile and frown at the same time :

44 Ghost ! What, you are a ba6y after all ! You are afraid of
ghosts?"

II Of Mr. Reed's ghost I am : he died in that room, and was
laid out there. Neither Bessie nor any one else will go into it
at night, if they can help it; and it was cruel to shut me up
alone without a candle — so cruel that I think I shall never
forget it."

" Nonsense ! And is it that makes you so miserable ? Are you
afraid now in daylight ?"

"No: but night will come again before long: and besides— I
am unhappy — very unhappy, for other things."

14 What other things ? Can you tell me some of them ?'

How much I wished to reply fully to this question 1 How
difficult it was to frame any answer 1 Children can feel, but they
cannot analyse their feelings ; and if the analysis is partially
effected in thought, they know not how to express the result of
the process in words. Fearful, however, of losing this first and
only opportunity of relieving my grief by imparting it, I, after a
disturbed pause, contrived to frame a meagre, though, as far as
it went, true response.

"For one thing, I have no father or mother, brothers or
sisters."

" You have a kind aunt and cousins."

Again I paused ; then bunglingly enounced :

"But John Reed knocked me down, and my aunt shut me up
in the red-room."

Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box.

"Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house?"
asked he. " Are you not very thankful to have such a fine place
to live at?"

" It is not my house, sir; and Abbot says I have less right to
be here than a servant."

"Pooh! you can't be silly enough to wish to leave such a
splendid place?"

" If I had anywhere else to go, I should be glad to leave it;
but I can never get away from Gateshead till I am a woman."

"Perhaps you may — who knows? Have you any relations
besides Mrs. Reed ?"

' I think not, sir.

1 None belonging to your father ?"

" I don't know: I asked Aunt Reed once, and she said possi-
bly I might have some poor, low relations called Hyre, but she
knew nothing about them."

44 If you had such, would you like to go to them ?"

I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people ; still more
so to children : they have not much idea of industrious, working,
respectable poverty ; they think of the word only as connected
with ragged clothes, scanty food, fireless grates, rude manners,

22 JANE EYRE.

and debasing vices : poverty for me was synonymous with
degradation.

"No; I should not like to belong to poor people," was my
reply.

" Not even if they were kind to you ?"

I shook my head : I could not see how poor people had the
means of being kind; and then to learn to speak like them, to
adopt their manners, to be uneducated, to grow up like one of
the poor women I saw sometimes nursing their children or wash-
ing their clothes at the cottage doors of the village of Gates-
head : no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at the
price of caste.

"But are your relatives so very poor? Are they working
people ?"

" I cannot tell ; Aunt Reed says if I have any they must be a
beggarly set : I should not like to go a-begging."

" Would you like to go to school ?"

Again I reflected : I scarcely knew what school was ; Bessie
sometimes spoke of it as a place where young ladies sat in the
stocks, wore backboards, and were expected to be exceedingly
genteel and precise : John Reed hated his school, and abused
his master; but John Reed's tastes were no rule for mine, and if
Bessie's accounts of school discipline (gathered from the young
ladies of a family where she had lived before coming to Gates-
head) were somewhat appalling, her details of certain accom-
plishments attained by these same young ladies were, I thought,
equally attractive. She boasted of beautiful paintings of land-
scapes and flowers by them executed ; of songs they could sing
and pieces they could play, of purses they could net, of French
books they could translate ; till my spirit was moved to emula-
tion as I listened. Besides, school would be a complete change,
it implied a long journey, an entire separation from Gateshead,
an entrance into a new life.

"I should indeed like to go to school," was the audible con-
clusion of my musings.

"Well, well; who knows what may happen?" said Mr,
Lloyd, as he got up. "The child ought to have change of air
and scene," he added, speaking to himself; " nerves not in a
good state."

Bessie now returned ; at the same moment the carriage was
heard rolling up the gravel-walk.

" Is that your mistress, nurse ?" asked Mr. Lloyd. " I should
like to speak to her before I go."

Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room, and led the
way out. In the interview which followed between him and Mrs.
Reed, I presume, from after occurrences, that the apothecary
ventured to recommend my being sent to school ; and the recom-
mendation was no doubt readily enough adopted ; for as Abbot
said, in discussing the subject with Bessie when both sat sewing
in the nursery one night after I was in bed, and, as they thought,

JANE EYRE. 23

asleep, "Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get rid of
such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if
she were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand."
Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy
Fawkes.

On that same occasion I learned, for the first time, from Miss
Abbot's communications to Bessie, that my father had been a
poor clergyman ; that my mother had married him against the
wishes of her friends, who considered the match beneath her ;
that my grandfather Reed was so irritated at her disobedienee,
he cut her off without a shilling, that after my mother and father
had been married a year, the latter caught the typhus fever
while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing town
where his curacy was situated, and where that disease was then
prevalent ; that my mother took the infection from him, and both
died within a month Qf each other.

Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and said,—

" Poor Miss Jane is to be pitied, too, Abbot."

"Yes," responded Abbot ; "if she were a nice, pretty child,
one might compassionate her forlornness ; but one really cannot
care for such a little toad as that."

" Not a great deal, to be sure," agreed Bessie : " at any rate,
a beauty Tike Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the
same condition."

"Yes, I dote on Miss Georgiana!" cried the fervent Abbot.
"Little darling! — with her long curls and her blue eyes, and
such a sweet colour as she has ; just as if she were painted ! —
Bessie, I could fancy a Welsh rabbit for supper."

" So could I — with a roast onion. Come, we'll go down."

They went.

CHAPTER IV

FROM my discourse with Mr. Lloyd, and from the above
reported conference between Bessie and Abbot, I gathered
enough of hope to suffice as a motive for wishing to get well :
a change seemed near — I desired and waited it in silence. It
tarried, however ; days and weeks passed ; I had regained my
normal state of health, but no new allusion was made to the sub-
ject over which I brooded. Mrs. Reed surveyed me at times
with a severe eye, but seldom addressed me : since my illness
she had drawn a more marked line of separation than ever be-
tween me and her own children, appointing me a small closet to
sleep in by myself, condemning me to take my meals alone, and
pass all ray time in the nursery, while my cousins were con-
stantly in the drawing-room. Not a hint, however, did she drop

24 JANE EYRE.

about sending me to school ; still I felt an instinctive certainty
that she would not long endure me under the same roof with her ;
for her glance, now more than ever, when turned on me, ex-
pressed an insuperable and rooted aversion.

Eliza and Georgiana, evidently acting according to orders,
spoke to me as little as possible ; John thrust his tongue in his
cheek whenever he saw me, and once attempted chastisement ;
but as I instantly turned against him, roused by the same senti-
ment of deep ire and desperate revolt which had stirred my
corruption before, he thought it better to desist, and ran from
me, uttering execrations, and vowing I had burst his nose. I
had, indeed, levelled at that prominent feature as hard a blow
as my knuckles could inflict ; and when I saw that either that
or my look daunted him, I had the greatest inclination to follow
up my advantage to purpose, but he was already with his mam-
ma. I heard him in a blubbering tone commence the tale of
how "that nasty Jane Eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat;
he was stopped rather harshly —

" Don't talk to me about her, John : I told you not to go near
her; she is not worthy of notice. I do not choose that either you
or your sisters should associate with her."

Here, leaning over the banister, I cried out suddenly, and
without at all deliberating on my words —

" They are not fit to associate with me."

Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman ; but, on hearing this
strange and audacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stair,
swept me like a whirlwind into the nursery, and, crushing me
down on the edge of my crib, dared me in an emphatic voice to
rise from that place, or utter one syllable, during the remainder
of the day.

" What would Uncle Reed say to you, if he were alive ?" was
my scarcely voluntary demand. I say scarcely voluntary, for it
seemed as if my tongue pronounced words without my will con-
senting to their utterance ; something spoke out of me over .
which I had no control.

" What ?" said Mrs. Reed, under her breath : her usually cold,
composed grey eye became troubled with a look like fear ; she
took her hand from my arm, and gazed at me as if she really
did not know whether I were child or fiend. I was now in
for it.

"My Uncle Reed is in heaven, and can see all you do and
think; and so can papa and mamma: they know how you shut
me up all day long, and how you wish me dead."

Mrs. Reed soon rallied her spirits, she shook me most soundly,
she boxed both my ears, and then left me without a word. Bessie
supplied the hiatus by a homily of an hour's length, in which she
proved beyond a doubt that I was the most wicked and aban-
doned child ever reared under a roof. I half believed her, for I
felt, indeed, only bad feelings surging in my breast.
s , ^November, December, and half of January passed away.

JANE EYRE. 25

Christmas and the New Year had been celebrated at Gateshead
with the usual festive cheer ; presents had been interchanged,
dinners and evening parties given. From every enjoyment I
was, of course, excluded : my share of the gaiety consisted in
witnessing the daily apparelling of Eliza and Gcorgiana, and see-
ing them descend to the drawing-room, dressed out in thin
muslin frocks and scarlet sashes, with hair elaborately ringleted ;
and afterwards, in listening to the sound of the piano or the
harp played below, to the passing to and fro of the butler and
footman, to the jingling of glass and china as refreshments were
handed, to the broken hum of conversation as the drawing-room
doors opened and closed. When tired of this occupation, I
would retire from the stairhead to the solitary and silent nursery ;
there, though somewhat sad, I was not miserable. To speak
truth, I had not the least wish to go into company, for in com-
pany I was very rarely noticed ; and if Bessie had but been kind
and companionable, I should have deemed it a treat to spend
the evenings quietly with her, instead of passing them under the
formidable eye of Mrs. Reed, in a room full of ladies and gentle-
men. But Bessie, as soon as she had dressed her young ladies,
used to take herself off to the lively regions of the kitchen and
housekeeper's room, generally bearing the candle along with her.
I then sat with my doll on my knee, till the fire got low, glancing
round occasionally to make sure that nothing worse than myself
haunted the shadowy room ; and when the embers sank to a dull
red, I undressed hastily, tugging at knots and strings as I best
might, and sought shelter from cold and darkness in my crib.
To this crib I always took my doll : human beings must love
something, and, in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I
contrived to find a pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded
graven image, shabby as a miniature scarecrow. It puzzles me
now to remember with what absurd sincerity I doted on this
little toy, half fancying it alive and capable of sensation. I
could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown ; and when
it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing
it to be happy likewise.

Long did the hours seem while I waited the departure of the
company, and listened for the sound of Bessie's step on the stairs.
Sometimes she would come up in the interval to seek her thimble
or her scissors, or perhaps to bring me something by way of
supper— a bun or a cheesecake — then she would sit on the bed
while I ate it, and when I had finished, she would tuck the
clothes round me, and twice she kissed me, and said, " Good-
night, Miss Jane." When thus gentle, Bessie seemed to me the
best, prettiest, kindest being in the world ; and I wished most
intensely that she would always be so pleasant and amiable, and
never push me about, or scold, or task me unreasonably, as she
was too often wont to do. Bessie Lee must, I think, have been
a girl of good natural capacity, for she was smart in all she did,
and had a remarkable knack of narrative ; so, at least, I judge

26 JANE EYRE.

from the impression made on me by her nursery tales. She was
pretty, too, if my recollections of her face and person are correct.
I remember her as a slim young woman, with black hair, dark
eyes, very nice features, and good, clear complexion; but she
had a capricious and hasty temper, and indifferent ideas of
principle or justice ; still, such as she was, I preferred her to any
one else at Gateshead Hall.

It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o'clock in the morn-
ing. Bessie was gone down to breakfast ; my cousins had not
yet been summoned to their mamma ; Eliza was putting on her
bonnet and warm garden-coat to go and feed her poultry — an
occupation of which she was fond, and not less so of selling the
eggs to the housekeeper and hoarding up the money she thus
obtained. She had a turn for traffic, and a marked propensity
for saving— shown not only in the vending ef eggs and chickens,
but also in driving hard bargains with the gardener about flower-
roots, seeds, and slips of plants — that functionary having orders
from Mrs. Reed to buy of his young lady all the products of her
parterre she wished to sell: and Eliza would have sold the
hair off her head if she could have made a handsome profit there-
by. As to her money, she first secreted it in odd corners,
wrapped in a rag or an old curl-paper; but some of these hoards
having been discovered by the housemaid, Eliza, fearful of one
day losing her valued treasure, consented to intrust it to her
mother at a usurious rate of interest — fifty or sixty per cent. —
which interest she exacted every quarter, keeping her accounts
in a little book with anxious accuracy.

Georgiana sat on a high stool, dressing her hair at the glass,
and interweaving her curls with artificial flowers and faded
feathers, of which she had found a store in a drawer in the attic.
I was making my bed, having received strct orders from Bessie
to get it arranged before she returned (for Bessie now frequently
employed me as a sort of under-nursery-maid, to tidy the room,
dust the chairs, &c). Having spread the quilt and folded my
night-dress, I went to the window-seat to put in order some pic-
ture-books and dolF s-house furniture scattered there; an abrupt
command from Georgiana to let her playthings alone (for the tiny
chairs and mirrors, the fairy plates and cups, were her property)
stopped my proceedings ; and then for lack of other occupation,
I fell to breathing on the frost-flowers with which the window
was fretted, and thus clearing a space in the glass through
which I might look out on the grounds, where all was still and
petrified under the influence of a hard frost.

From this window were visible the porter's lodge and the car-
riage-road, and just as I had dissolved so much of the silver-
white foliage veiling the panes as left room to look out, I saw the
gates thrown open and a carriage roll through. I watched it
ascending the drive with indifference: carriages often came
to Gateshead, but none ever brought visitors in whom I was
interested; it stopped in front of the house, the door-bell

JANE EYRE. 2J

rang loudly, the new-comer was admitted. All this being
nothing to me, my vacant attention soon found livelier attraction
in the spectacle of a little hungry robin, which came and chir-
ruped on the twigs of the leafless cherry-tree nailed against the
wall near the casement. The remains of my breakfast of bread
and milk stood on the table, and, having crumbled a morsel of
roll, I was tugging at the sash to put out the crumbs on the
window-sill, when Bessie came running upstairs into the nursery.

"Miss Jane, take off your pinafore: what are you doing
there ? Have you washed your hands and face this morning ?"

I gave another tug before I answered, for I wanted the bird to
be secure of its bread : the sash yielded, I scattered the crumbs
— some on the stone sill, some on the cherry-tree bough ; then,
closing the window, I replied —

" No, Bessie; I have only just finished dusting."

"Troublesome, careless child 1 — and what are you doing- now?
You look quite red, as if you had been about some mischief:
what were you opening the window for?"

I was spared the trouble of answering, for Bessie seemed to be
in too great a hurry to listen to explanations ; she hauled me to
the washstand, inflicted a merciless, but happily brief, scrub on
my face and hands with soap, water, and a coarse towel ; discip-
lined my head with a bristly brush, denuded me of my pinafore,
then hurrying me to the top of the stairs, bid me go down
directly, as I was wanted in the breakfast-room.

I would have asked who wanted me — I would have demanded
if Mrs. Reed was there, but Bessie was already gone, and had
closed the nursery door upon me. I slowly descended. For
nearly three months I had never been called to Mrs. Reed's
presence ; restricted so long to the nursery, the breakfast, dining
and drawing rooms were become for me awful regions, on which
it dismayed me to intrude.

I now stood in the empty hall ; before me was the breakfast-
room door, and I stopped, intimidated and trembling. What a
miserable little poltroon had fear, engendered of unjust punish-
ment, made of me in those days 1 I feared to return to the
nursery, and feared to go forward to the parlour ; ten minutes I
stood in agitated hesitation ; the vehement ringing of the
breakfast-room bell decided me ; I must enter.

" Who could want me?" I asked inwardly, as with both hands
I turned the stiff door-handle which, for a second or two, resisted
my efforts. "What should I see besides Aunt Reed in the
apartment? — a man or a woman?" The handle turned, the
door unclosed, and passing through, and curtseying low, I
looked up at — a black pillar !— such, at least, appeared to me,
at first sight, the straight, narrow, sable-clad shape standing
erect on the rug; the grim face at the top was like a carved
mask, placed above the shaft by way of capital.

Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside ; she made

28 JANE EYRE.

a signal to me to approach ; I did so, and she introduced me to
the stony stranger with the words —

" This is the little girl respecting whom I applied to you."
He — for it was a man — turned his head slowly towards where I
stood, and having examined me with the two inquisitive-looking
grey eyes which twinkled under a pair of bushy brows, said
solemnly, and in a bass voice —

" Her size is small ; what is her age ?"
"Ten years."

"So much?" was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his
scrutiny for some minutes. Presently he addressed me :
" Your name, little girl ?"
"Jane Eyre, sir."

In uttering these word I looked up : he seemed to me a tall
gentleman, but then I was very little ; his feature were large, and
they and all the lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim.
" Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child ?"
Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative : my little world
held a contrary opinion : I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for
me by an expressive shake of the head, adding soon, " Perhaps
the less said on that subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst."

" Sorry indeed to hear it ! She and I must have some talk;"
and bending from the perpendicular, he installed his person in
the armchair, opposite Mrs. Reed's. " Come here," he said.

I stepped across the rug : he placed me square and straight
before him. What a face he had, now that it was almost on a
level with mine ! what a great nose ! and what a mouth ! and
what large prominent teeth !

"No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," he began,
"especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the
wicked go after death ?"

" They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer.
"And what is hell ? Can you tell me that ?"
"A pit full of fire."

"And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning
there for ever?"
"No, sir."

" What must you do to avoid it ?"

I deliberated a moment : my answer, when it did come, was
objectionable : " I must keep in good health, and not die."

" How can you keep in good health ? Children younger than
you die daily. I buried a little child of five years only a day or
two since — a good little child, whose soul is now in heaven. It
is to be feared the same could not be said of you, were you to be
called hence."

Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my
eyes down on the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed,
wishing myself far enough away.

" I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of

JANE EYRE. 2g

ever having been the occasion of discomfort to your excellent
benefactress."

"Benefactress! benefactress!" said I, inwardly: "they all
call Mrs. Reed my benefactress; if so, a benefactress is a
disagreeable thing."

" Do you say your prayers night and morning?" continued my
interrogator.
"Yes, sir."

" Do you read your Bible ?"
"Sometimes."

" With pleasure ? Are you fond of it ?"

" I like Revelations, and the Book of Daniel, and Genesis, and
Samuel, and a little bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings and
Chronicles, and Job and Jonah."
" And the Psalms ? I hope you like them ?"
"No, sir."

" No ? Oh, shocking ! I have a little boy, younger than you,
who knows six Psalms by heart : and when you ask him which
he would rather have, a gingerbread-nut to eat, or a verse of a
Psalm to learn, he says : ' Oh ! the verse of a Psalm ! angels sing
Psalms,' says he; ' I wish to be a little angel here below.' He
then gets two nuts in recompense for his infant piety."
" Psalms are not interesting," I remarked.
"That proves you have a wicked heart; and you must pray to
God to change it : to give you a new and clean one : to take
away your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh."

I was about to propound a question, touching the manner in
which that operation of changing my heart was to be performed,
when Mrs. Reed interposed, telling me to sit down ; she then
proceeded to carry on the conversation herself.

" Mr. Brocklchurst, I believe I intimated in the letter which I
wrote to you three weeks ago, that this little girl has not quite
the character and disposition I could wish : should you admit
her into Lowood school, I should be glad if the superintendent
and teachers were requested to keep a strict eye on her, and,
above all, to guard against her worst fault, a tendency to deceit.
I mention this in your hearing, Jane, that you may not attempt
to impose upon Mr. Brocklehurst."

Well might I dread, well might I dislike Mrs. Reed ; for it
was her nature to wound me cruelly : never was I happy in her
presence. However carefully I obeyed, however strenuously I
strove to please her, my -efforts were still repulsed, and repaid by
such sentences as the above. Now, uttered before a stranger,
the accusation cut me to the heart : I dimly perceived that she
was already obliterating hope from the new phase of existence
which she destined me to enter. I felt, though 1 could not have
expressed the feeling, that she was sowing aversion and unkind-
ness along my future path ; I saw myself transformed, under Mr.
Brocklehurst' s eye, into an artful, noxious child, and what could
I do to remedy the injury ?

30 JANE EYRE.

"Nothing, indeed," thought I, as I struggled to repress a
sob, and hastily wiped away some tears, the impotent evidences
of my anguish.

" Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child," said Mr. Brockle-
hurst ; "it is akin to falsehood, and all liars will have their por-
tion in the lake burning with fire and brimstone ; she shall, how-
ever, be watched, Mrs. Reed. I will speak to Miss Temple and
the teachers."

" I should wish her to be brought up in a manner suiting her
prospects,." continued my benefactress ; "to be made useful, to
be kept humble. As for the vacations, she will, with your per-
mission, spend them always at Lowood."

"Your decisions are perfectly judicious, madam," returned
Mr. Brocklehurst. "Humility is a Christian grace, and one
peculiarly appropriate to the pupils of Lowood; I, therefore,
direct that especial care shall be bestowed on its cultivation
amongst them. I have studied how best to mortify in them the
worldly sentiment of pride, and, only the other day, I had a
pleasing proof of my success. My second daughter, Augusta,
went with her mamma to visit the school, and on her return she
exclaimed, ' Oh, dear papa, how quiet and plain all the girls at
Lowood look; with their hair combed behind their ears, and
their long pinafores, and those little holland pockets outside their
frocks, they are almost like poor people's children ! and,' said
she, ' they looked at my dress, and mamma's, as if they had
never seen a silk gown before.' "

"This is the state of things I quite approve," returned Mrs.
Reed. "Had I sought all England over, I could scarcely have
found a system more exactly fitting a child like Jane Eyre.
Consistency, my dear Mr. Brocklehurst — I advocate consistency
in all things."

" Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties, and it
has been observed in every arrangement connected with the
establishment of Lowood : plain fare, simple attire, unsophisti-
cated accommodations, hardy and active habits ; such is the
order of the day in the house and its inhabitants."

" Quite right, sir. I may then depend upon this child being
received as a pupil at Lowood, and there being trained in con-
formity to her position and prospects ?"

"Madam, you may; she shall be placed in that nursery of
chosen plants, and I trust she will show herself grateful for the
inestimable privilege of her election."

" I. will send her, then, as soon as possible, Mr. Brocklehurst ;
for, I assure you, I feel anxious to be relieved of a responsibility
that was becoming too irksome."

"No doubt, no doubt, madam. And now I wish you good
morning. I shall return to Brocklehurst Hall in the course of a
week or two ; my good friend, the Archdeacon, will not permit
me to leave him sooner. I shall send Miss Temple notice that

JANE EYRE. 31

she is to expect a new girl, so that there will be no difficulty
about receiving- her. Good-by."

"Good-by, Mr. Brocklehurst ; remember me to Mrs. and Miss
Brocklehurst, and to Augusta and Theodore, and Master
Broughton Brocklehurst."

" I will, madam. Little girl, here is a book entitled the
'Child's Guide;' read it with prayer, especially that part con-
taining 'an account of the awfully sudden death of Martha
G— , a naughty child, addicted to falsehood and deceit.' "

With these words Mr. Brocklehurst put into my hand a thin
pamphlet, sewn in a cover, and, having rung for his carriage, he
departed.

Mrs. Reed and I were left alone; some minutes passed in
silence. She was sewing, I was watching her. Mrs. Reed
might be at that time some six or seven and thirty ; she was a
woman of robust frame, square-shouldered and strong-limbed,
not tall, and, though stout, not obese : she had a somewhat
large face, the under-jaw being much developed and very solid ;
her brow was low, her chin Targe and prominent ; mouth and
nose sufficiently regular; under her light eyebrows glimmered an
eye devoid of truth; her skin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly
flaxen : her constitution was sound as a bell ; illness never came
near her; she was an exact, clever manager, her household and
tenantry were thoroughly under her control ; her children only, at
times, defied her authority, and laughed it to scorn ; she dressed
well, and had a presence and port calculated to set off handsome
attire.

Sitting on a low stool, a few yards from her armchair, I
examined her figure, I perused her features. In my hand I held
the tract containing the sudden death of the Liar : to which nar-
rative my attention had been pointed as to an appropriate warn-
ing, what had just passed ; what Mrs. Reed had said concern-
ing me to Mr. BrockleTiurst ; the whole tenor of their conver-
sation, was recent, raw, and stinging in my mind : I had felt
every word as acutely as I had heard it plainly, and a passion of
resentment fomented now within me.

Mrs. Reed looked up from her work : her eye settled \>n mine,
her fingers at the same time suspended their nimble movements.

" Go out of the room ; return to the nursery," was her mandate.
My look or something else must have struck her as offensive,
for she spoke with extreme though suppressed irritation. I got
up, I went to the door; I came back again; I walked to the
window, across the room, then close up to her.

Speak I must: I had been trodden on severely, and must turn :
but how? What strength had I to dart retaliation at my
antagonist ? I gathered my energies and launched them in this
blunt sentence :

" I am not deceitful: if I were, I should say I loved you; but I
declare I do not love you : I dislike you the worst of anybody in
the world except John Reed ; and this book about the Liar you

32 JANE EYRE.

may give to your girl, Georgiana, for it is she who tells lies, and
not I."

Mrs. Reed's hands still lay on her work inactive: her eye of
ice continued to dwell freezingly on mine.

"What more have you to say?" she asked, rather in the
tone in which a person might address an opponent of adult age
than such as is ordinarily used to a child.

That eye of hers, that voice, stirred every antipathy I had.
Shaking from head to foot, thrilled with ungovernable excite-
ment, I continued :

" I am glad you are no relation of mine. I will never call you
aunt again as long as I live. I will never come to see you when
I am grown up ; and if any one asks me how I liked you, and
how you treated me, I will say the very thought of you makes me
sick, and that you treated me with miserable cruelty."

" How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre ?"

"How dare I, Mrs. Reed? How dare I? Because it is the
truth. You think I have no feelings, and that I can do without
one bit of love or kindness ; but I cannot live so : and you
have no pity. I shall remember how you thrust me back —
roughly and violently thrust me back — into the red-room, and
locked me up there, to my dying day, though I was in agony,
though I cried out, while suffocating with distress, ' Have
mercy! Have mercy, Aunt Reed!' And that punishment you
made me suffer because your wicked boy struck me — knocked me
down for nothing. I will tell anybody who asks me questions
this exact tale. People think you a good woman, but you are
bad, hard-hearted. You are deceitful !"

Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to
exult, with the strangest sense of freedom, of triumph, I ever
felt. It seemed as if an invisible bond had burst, and that I had
struggled out into unhoped-for liberty. Not without cause was
this sentiment : Mrs. Reed looked frightened : her work had
slipped lrom her knee ; she was lifting up her hands, rocking
herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if she would cry.

" Jane, you are under a mistake : what is the matter with you ?
Why do you tremble so violently ? Would you like to drink
some water ?"

"No, Mrs. Reed."

" Is there anything else you wish for, Jane ? I assure you, I
desire to be your friend."

" Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad character,
a deceitful disposition ; and I'll let everybody at Lowood know
what you are, and what you have done."

" Jane, you don't understand these things : children must be
corrected for their faults."

" Deceit is not my fault !" I cried out in a savage, high voice.

" But you are passionate, Jane, that you must allow : and now
return to the nursery — there's a dear — and lie down a little."

JANE EYRE. 33

" I am not your dear ; I cannot lie down. Send me to school
soon, Mrs. Reed, for I hate to live here."

"I will indeed send her to school soon," murmured Mrs.
Reed, sotto voce; and gathering up her work, she abruptly
quitted the apartment.

I was left there alone— winner of the field. It was the hardest
battle I had fought, and the first victory I had gained. I
stood awhile on the rug, where Mr. Brocklehurst had stood, and
I enjoyed my conqueror's solitude. First, I smiled to myself
and felt elate ; but this fierce pleasure subsided in me as fast as
did the accelerated throb of my pulses. A child cannot quarrel
with its elders, as I had done — cannot give its furious feelings
uncontrolled play, as I had given mine— without experiencing
afterwards the pang of remorse and the chill of reaction. A
ridge of lighted heath, alive, glancing, devouring, would have
been a meet emblem of my mind when I accused and menaced
Mrs. Reed ; the same ridge, black and blasted after the flames
are dead, would have represented as meetly my subsequent con-
dition, when half an hour's silence and reflection had shown me
the madness of my conduct, and the dreariness of my hated
and hating passion.

Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time. As
aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy; its after-
flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had
been poisoned. Willingly would I now have gone and asked
Mrs. Reed's pardon; but I knew partly from experience and
partly from instinct, that was the way to make her repulse me
with double scorn, thereby re-exciting every turbulent impulse of
my nature.

I would fain exercise some better faculty than that of fierce
speaking — fain find nourishment for some less fiendish feeling
than that of sombre indignation. I took a book — some Arabian
tales ; I sat down and endeavoured to read. 1 could make no
sense of the subject ; my own thoughts swam always between me
and the page 1 had usually found fascinating. I opened the
glass-door in the breakfast-room : the shrubbery was quite still :
the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun or breeze, through the
grounds. I covered my head and arms with the skirt of my
frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which was
quite sequestered ; but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the
falling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves,
swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. I
leaned against a gate, and looked into an empty field where no
sheep were feeding, where the short grass was nipped and
blanched. It was a very grey day; a most opague sky,
11 onding on snaw," canopied all ; then flakes fell at intervals,
which settled on the hard path and on the hoary lea without
melting. I stood, a wretched child enough, whispering to
myself over and over again, " What shall I do ?— what shall I
do?"

C

34 JANE EYRE.

All at once I heard a clear voice call, " Miss Jane ! where
are you ? Come to lunch !"

It was Bessie, I knew well enough ; but I did not stir. Her
light step came tripping down the path.

"You naughty little thing!" she said. "Why don't you
come when you are called ?"

Bessie's presence, compared with the thoughts over which I
had been brooding, seemed cheerful, even though, as usual, she
was somewhat cross. The fact is, after my conflict with and
victory over Mrs. Reed, I was not disposed to care much for the
nursemaid's transitory anger; and I was disposed to bask in her
youthful lightness of heart. I just put my two arms round her,
and said, " Come, Bessie ! don't scold !"

The action was more frank and fearless than any I was habit-
uated to indulge in. Somehow, it pleased her.

"You are a strange child, Miss Jane," she said, as she
looked down at me; "a little roving, solitary thing. And you
are going to school, I suppose ?"

I nodded.

"And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie ?"

"What does Bessie care for me? She is always scolding
me."

"Because you're such a queer, frightened, shy, little thing.
You should be bolder."

' ' What ! To get more knocks ! ' '

"Nonsense! But you are rather put upon, that's certain.
My mother said, when she came to see me last week, that she
would not like a little one of her own to be in your place. Now,
come in, and I've some good news for you."

" I don't think you have, Bessie."

"Child! What do you mean? What sorrowful eyes you fix
on me ! Well ! but Missis and the young ladies and Master
John are going out to tea this afternoon, and you shall have tea
with me. I'll ask cook to bake you a little cake, and then you
shall help me to look over your drawers for I am soon to pack
your trunks. Missis intends you to leave Gateshead in a day or
two, and you shall choose what toys you like to take with you.

"Bessie, you must promise not to scold me any more till I
go."

"Well, I will; but mind, you are a very good girl, and don't
be afraid of me. Don't start when I chance to speak rather
sharply: it's so provoking."

" I don't think I shall ever be afraid of you again Bessie, be-
cause I have got used to you ; and I shall soon have another set
of people to dread."

" If you dread them, they'll dislike you."

"As you do, Bessie?"

" I don't dislike you, Miss; I believe I am fonder of you than
of all the others."

" You don't show it."

JANE EYRE. 35

'* You little sharp thing ! you've got quite a new way of talk-
ing. What makes you so venturesome and hardy?"

"Why, I shall soon be away from you, and besides "

I was going to say something about what had passed between
me and Mrs. Reed; but on second thoughts I considered it
better to remain silent on that head.
" And so you're glad to leave me ?"
" Not at all, Bessie ; indeed, just now I am rather sorry."
" Just now ! and rather 1 How coolly my little lady says it ! I
daresay now if I were to ask you for a kiss you wouldn't give it
me : you'd say you'd rather not."
" I'll kiss you and welcome : bend your head down."
Bessie stooped; we mutually embraced, and I followed her
into the house quite comforted. That afternoon lapsed in peace,
and harmony; and in the evening Bessie told me some of her
most enchanting stories, and sang me some of her sweetest
songs. Even for me life had its gleams of sunshine.

CHAPTER V.

FIVE o'clock had hardly struck on the morning on the 19th
of January, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet
and found me already up and nearly dressed. I had risen half
an hour before her entrance, and had washed my face, and put
on my clothes by the light of a half-moon just setting, whose
rays streamed through the narrow window near my crib. I was
to leave Gateshead that day by a coach which passed the lodge
gates at six A.M. Bessie was the only person yet risen; she
had lit a fire in the nursery, where she now proceeded to make
my breakfast. Few children can eat when excited with the
thoughts of a journey : nor could I. Bessie, having pressed me
in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and bread she
had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and
put them into my bag : then she helped me on with my pelisse
and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I left the
nursery. As we passed Mrs. Reed's bed-room, she said, —

" Will you go in and bid Missis good-bye ?"

"No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were
gone down to supper, and said I need not disturb her in the
morning, or my cousins either; and she told me to remember
that she had always been my best friend, and to speak of her and
be grateful to her accordingly."

" What did you say, Miss ?"

" Nothing: I covered my face with the bed-clothes, and turned
from her to the wall."

"That was wrong, Miss Jane."

3& JANE EYRE.

" It was quite right, Bessie : your Missis has not been my
friend : she has been my foe."

" Oh, Miss Jane ! don't say so !"

" Good-bye to Gateshead !" cried I, as we passed through the
hall and went out at the front door.

The moon was set, and it was very dark : Bessie carried a
lantern, whose light glanced on wet steps and gravel road
sodden by a recent thaw. Raw and chill was the winter morn-
ing : my teeth chattered as I hastened down the drive. There
was a light in the porter's lodge : when we reached it, we found
the porter's wife just kindling her fire: my trunk, which had
been carried down the evening before, stood corded at the door.
It wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly after that hour
had struck the distant roll of wheels announced the coming
coach; I went to the door and watched its lamps approach
rapidly through the gloom.

" Is she going by herself?" asked the porter's wife.

"Yes."

" And how far is it ?"

"Fifty miles."

"What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to
trust her so far alone."

The coach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four
horses and its top laden with passengers : the guard and coach-
man loudly urged haste ; my trunk was hoisted up ; I was taken
from Bessie's neck to which I clung with kisses.

" Be sure and take good care of her," cried she to the guard,
as he lifted me into the inside.

" Ay, ay !" was the answer : the door was slapped to, a voice
exclaimed "All right," and on we drove. Thus was I severed
from Bessie and Gateshead : thus whirled away to unknown, and
as I then deemed, remote and mysterious regions.

I remember but little of the journey : I only know that the
day seemed to me of a preternatural length, and that we ap-
peared to travel over hundreds of miles of road. We passed
through several towns, and in one, a very large one, the coach
stopped ; the horses were taken out, and the passengers alighted
to dine. I was carried into an inn, where the guard wanted me
to have some dinner ; but, as I had no appetite, he left me in an
immense room with a fireplace at each end, a chandelier pendant
from the ceiling, and a little red gallery high up against the wall
filled with musical instruments. Here I walked about for a long
time, feeling very strange, and mortally apprehensive of some
one coming in and kidnapping me ; for I believed in kidnappers,
their exploits having frequently figured in Bessie's fireside chron-
icles. At last the guard returned; once more I was stowed
away in the coach, my protector mounted his own seat, sounded
his hollow horn, and away we rattled over the " stony street"
ofL .

The afternoon came on wet and somewhat misty : as it waned

JANE EYRE. 37

into dusk, I began to feel that we were getting very far indeed
from Gateshead : we ceased to pass through towns ; the country
changed ; great grey hills heaved up round the horizon : as twi-
light deepened, we descended a valley, dark with wood, and long
after night had overclouded the prospect, I heard a wild wind
rushing amongst trees.

Lulled by the sound, I at last dropped asleep : I had not long
slumbered when the sudden cessation of motion awoke me ; the
coach-door was open, and a person like a servant was standing
at it : I saw her face ajid dress by the light of the lamps.

" Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here ?" she asked. I
answered " Yes," and was then lifted out ; my trunk was handed
down, and the coach instantly drove away.

I was stiff with long sitting-, and bewildered with the noise and
motion of the coach : gathering my faculties, I looked about me.
Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air ; nevertheless, I dimly
discerned a wall before me and a door open in it ; through this
door I passed with my new guide : she shut and locked it be-
hind her. There was now visible a house or houses — for the
building spread far — with many windows, and lights burning in
some ; we went up a broad pebbly path, splashing wet, and were
admitted at a door ; then the servant led me through a passage
into a room with a fire, where she left me alone.

I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, then I
looked round ; there was no candle, but the uncertain light from
the hearth showed, by intervals, papered walls, carpets, curtains,
shining mahogany furniture ; it was a parlour, not so spacious or
splendid as the drawing-room at Gateshead, but comfortable
enough. I was puzzling to make out the subject of a picture on
the wall, when the door opened, and an individual carrying a
light entered ; another followed close behind.

The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale
and large forehead ; her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl,
her countenance was grave, her bearing erect.

"The child is very young to be sent alone," said she, putting
her candle down on the table. She considered me attentively for
a minute or two, then further added :

•* She had better be put to bed soon ; she looks tired : are you
tired ?" she asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.

"A little, ma'am."

" And hungry too, no doubt : let her have some supper before
she goes to bed, Miss Miller. Is this the first time you have left
your parents to come to school, my little girl ?"

I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how
long they had been dead ; then how old I was, what was my
name, whether I could read, write, and sew a little : then she
touched my cheek gently with her forefinger and saying, " She
hoped I should be a good child," dismissed me along with Miss
M filer.

The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine ; the one who

38 JANE EYRE.

went with me appeared some years younger : the first impressed
me by her voice, look, and air. Miss Miller was more ordinary ;
ruddy in complexion, though of a care-worn countenance, hurried
in gait and action, like one who had always a multiplicity of
tasks on hand : she looked, indeed, what I afterwards found she
really was, an under-teacher. Led by her, I passed from com-
partment to compartment, from passage to passage, of a large
and irregular building ; till emerging from the total and some-
what dreary silence pervading that portion of the house we had
traversed, we came upon the hum of many voices, and presently
entered a wide, long room, with great deal tables, two at each
end, on each of which burnt a pair of candles, and seated all
round on benches, a congregation of girls of every age, from nine
or ten to twenty. Seen by the dim light of the dips, their num-
ber to me appeared countless, though not in reality exceeding
eighty : they were uniformly dressed in brown stuff frocks of
quaint fashion, and long holland pinafores. It was the hour of
study; they were engaged in conning over their to-morrow's
task, and the hum I had heard was the combined result of their
whispered repetitions.

Miss Miller signed to me to sit on a bench near the door, then
walking up to the top of the long room, she cried out :

" Monitors, collect the lesson-books and put them away I"

Four tall girls arose from different tables, and going round,
gathered the books and removed them. Miss Miller again gave
the word of command :

" Monitors, fetch the supper-trays !"

The tall girls went out and returned presently, each bearing a
tray, with portions of something, I knew not what, arranged
thereon, and a pitcher of water and mug in the middle of each
tray. The portions were handed round ; those who liked took a
draught of the water, the mug being common to all. When it
came to my turn, I drank, for I was thirsty, but did not touch the
food, excitement and fatigue rendering me incapable of eating :
I now saw, however, that it was a thin oaten cake, shared into
fragments.

The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the
classes filed off, two and two, upstairs. Overpowered by this
time with weariness, I scarcely noticed what sort of a place the
bed-room was ; except that, like the school-room, I saw it was
very long. To-night I was to be Miss Miller's bed-fellow; she
helped me to undress: when laid down I glanced at the long
rows of beds, each of which was quickly filled with two occu-
pants ; in ten minutes the single light was extinguished ; amidst
silence and complete darkness, I fell asleep.

The night passed rapidly : I was too tired even to dream ; I
only once awoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts, and the
rain fall in torrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller had
taken her place by my side. When I again unclosed my eyes, a
loud bell was ringing : the girls were up and dressing ; day had

JANE EYRE. 3Q

not yet begun to dawn, and a rushlight or two burnt in the room.
I too rose reluctantly; it was bitter cold, and I dressed as well as
I could for shivering, and washed when there was a basin at
liberty, which did not occur soon, as there was but one basin to
six girls, on the stands down the middle of the room. Again the
bell rang : all formed in file, two and two, and in that order des-
cended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly lit school-room,
here prayers were read by Miss Miller; afterwards she called
out:

"Form classes I"

A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during which Miss
Miller repeatedly exclaimed, " Silence 1" and " Order 1" When
it subsided, I saw them ail drawn up in four semi-circles, before
four chairs, placed at the four tables: all held books in their
hands, and a great book, like a Bible, lay on each table, before
the vacant seat. A pause of some seconds succeeded, filled up
by the low vague hum of numbers; Miss Miller walked from
class to class, hushing this indefinite sound.

A distant bell tinkled: immediately three ladies entered the
room, each walked to a table and took her seat; Miss Miller
assumed the fourth vacant chair, which was that nearest the
door, and around which the smallest of the children were
assembled : to this inferior class I was called, and placed at the
bottom of it.

Business now began : the day's Collect was repeated, then cer-
tain texts of Scripture were said, and to these succeeded a pro-
tracted reading of chapters in the Bible, which lasted an hour.
By the time that exercise was terminated, day had fully dawned.
The indefatigable bell now sounded for the fourth time: the
classes were marshalled and marched into another room to
breakfast : how glad I was to behold a prospect of getting some-
thing to eatl I was now nearly sick from inanition, having
taken so little the day before.

The refectory was a great, low-ceiled, gloomy room ; on two
long tables smoked basins of something hot, which, however, to
my dismay, sent forth an odour far from inviting. I saw a
universal manifestation of discontent when the fumes of the
repast met the nostrils of those destined to swallow it ; from the
van of the procession, the tall girls of the first class, rose the
whispered words :

" Disgusting I The porridge is burnt again 1"

"Silencel" ejaculated a voice; not that of Miss Miller, but
one of the upper teachers, a little and dark personage, smartly
dressed, but of somewhat morose aspect, who installed herself at
the top of one table, while a more buxom lady presided at the
other. I looked in vain for her I had first seen the night before ;
she was not visible ; Miss Miller occupied the foot of the table
where I sat; and a strange, foreign-looking, elderly lady, the
French teacher, as I afterwards found, took the corresponding
seat at the other board. A long grace was said, and a hymn

40 JANE EYRE.

sung ; then a servant brought in some tea for the teachers, and
the meal began.

Ravenous, and now very faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of
my portion without thinking of its taste ; but the first edge of
hunger blunted, I perceived I had got in hand a nauseous mess
— burnt porridge is almost as bad as rotten potatoes ; famine
itself soon sickens over it. The spoons were moved slowly; I
saw each girl taste her food and try to swallow it ; but in most
cases the effort was soon relinquished. Breakfast was over, and
none had breakfasted. Thanks having been returned for what
we had not got, and a second hymn chanted, the refectory was
evacuated for the schoolroom. 1 was one of the last to go out,
and in passing the tables, I saw one teacher take a basin of the
porridge and taste it ; she looked at the others ; all their
countenances expressed displeasure, and one of them, the stout
one, whispered :

" Abominable stuff! How shameful !"

A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began, during
which the schoolroom was in a glorious tumult ; for that space
of time, it seemed to be permitted to talk loud and more freely,
and they used their privilege. The whole conversation ran on
the breakfast, which one and all abused roundly. Poor things !
it was the sole consolation they had. Miss Miller was now the
only teacher in the room : a group of great girls standing about
her, spoke with serious and sullen gestures. I heard the name
of Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced by some lips, at which Miss
Miller shook her head disapprovingly ; but she made no great
effort to check the general wrath : doubtless she shared in it.

A clock in the schoolroom struck nine ; Miss Miller left her
circle, and standing in the middle of the room, cried:

"Silence! To your seats !"

Discipline prevailed : in five minutes the confused throng was
resolved into order, and comparative silence quelled the Babel
clamour of tongues. The upper teachers now punctually resumed
their posts : but still, all seemed to wait. Ranged on benches
down the sides of the room, the eighty girls sat motionless and
erect : a quaint assemblage they appeared, all with plain locks
combed from their faces, not a curl visible ; in brown dresses made
high, and surrounded by a narrow tucker about the throat, with
little pockets of holland (shaped something like a Highlander's
purse) tied in front of their frocks, and destined to serve the pur-
pose of a work-bag: all too wearing woollen stockings and
country-made shoes, fastened with brass buckles. Above twenty
of those clad in this costume were full-grown girls> or rather
young women ; it suited them ill, and gave an air of oddity even
to the prettiest.

I was still looking at them, and also at intervals examining the
teachers — none of whom precisely pleased me ; for the stout one
was a little coarse, the dark one not a little fierce, the foreigner
harsh and grotesque, and Miss Miller, poor thing ! looked purple,

JANE EYRE. 41

weather-beaten, and overworked — when, as my eye wandered
from face to face, the whole school rose simultaneously, as if
moved by a common spring.

What was the matter ? I had heard no order given ; I was
puzzled. Ere I had gathered my wits the classes were again
seated, but, as all eyes were now turned to one point, mine
followed the general direction, and encountered the personage
who had received me last night. She stood at the bottom of the
long room, on the hearth, for there was a fire at each end ; she
surveyed the two rows of girls silently and gravely. Miss Miller,
approaching, seemed to ask her a question, and, having received
her answer, went back to her place, and said aloud :

" Monitor of the first class, fetch the globes !"

While the direction was being executed, the lady consulted
moved slowly up the room. I suppose I have a considerable
organ of Veneration, for I retain yet the sense of admiring awe
with which my eyes traced her steps. Seen now in broad day-
light, she looked tall, fair, and shapely; brown eyes, with a
benignant light in their irids, and a fine pencilling of long
lashes round, relieved the whiteness of her large front ; on each
of her temples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clustered in
round curls, according to the fashion of those times, when
neither smooth bands nor long ringlets were in vogue ; her dress,
also in the mode of the day, was of purple cloth, relieved by a sort
of Spanish trimming of black velvet ; a gold watch (watches were
not so common then as now) shone at her girdle. Let the reader
add, to complete the picture, refined features, a complexion, if
pale, clear, and a stately air and carriage, and he will have, at
least as clearly as words can give it, a correct idea of the exterior
of Miss Temple — Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the name
written in a prayer-book entrusted to me to carry to church.

The superintendent of Lowood (for such was this lady) having
taken her seat before a pair of globes, placed on one of the
tables, summoned the first class round her, and commenced
giving a lesson in geography ; the lower classes were called by
the teachers. Repetitions in history, grammar, &c, went on for
an hour; writing and arithmetic succeeded, and music lessons
were given by Miss Temple to some of the ejder girls. The dura-
tion of each lesson was measured by the clock, which at last
struck twelve. The superintendent rose.

11 1 have a word to address to the pupils," said she.

The tumult of cessation from lessons was already breaking
forth, but it sank at her voice. She went on :

" You had this morning a breakfast which you could not eat ;
you must be hungry. I have ordered that a lunch of bread and
cheese shall be served to all."

The teachers looked at her with a sort of surprise.

"It is to be done on my responsibility," she added, in an
explanatory tone to them, and immediately afterwards left the
room.

42 JANEEYRE.

The bread and cheese were presently brought in and dis-
tributed, to the high delight and refreshment of the whole school.
The order was now given, "To the garden." Each put on a
coarse straw bonnet, with strings of coloured calico, and a cloak
of grey frieze. I was similarly equipped, and, following the
stream, I made my way into the open air.

The garden was a wide enclosure, surrounded by walls so high
as to exclude every glimpse of prospect ; a covered verandah ran
down one side, and broad walks bordered a middle space divided
into scores of little beds ; these beds were assigned as gardens
for the pupils to cultivate, and each bed had an owner. When
full of flowers they would doubtless look pretty, but, now, at the
latter end of January, -all was wintry blight and brown decay. I
shuddered as I stood and looked round me : it was an inclement
day for out-door exercise — not positively rainy, but darkened by
a drizzling yellow fog ; all under foot was still soaking wet with
the floods of yesterday. The stronger among the girls ran about
and engaged in active games, but sundry pale and thin ones
herded together for shelter and warmth in the verandah ; and
amongst these, as the dense mist penetrated to their shivering
frames, I heard frequently the sound of a hollow cough.

As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody seem to take
notice of me ; I stood lonely enough, but to that feeling of isola-
tion I was accustomed ; it did not oppress me much. I leant
against a pillar of the verandah, drew my grey mantle close
about me, and, trying to forget the cold which nipped me with-
out, and the unsatisfied hunger which gnawed me within,
delivered myself up to the employment of watching and thinking.
My reflections were too undefined and fragmentary to merit
record. I hardly yet knew where I was. Gateshead and my
past life seemed floated away to an immeasurable distance.
The present was vague and strange, and of the future I could
form no conjecture. I looked round the convent-like garden,
and then up at the house — a large building, half of which seemed
grey and old, the other half quite new. The new part, contain-
ing the school-room and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and
latticed windows, which gave it a church-like aspect. A stone
tablet over the door bore this inscription :

"Lowood Institution. — This portion was rebuilt A.D. , by

Naomi Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this county."
" Let your light so shine before men that they may see your
good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." — St.
Matt. v. 1 6.

I read these words over and over again. I felt that an explan-
ation belonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate their
import. I was still pondering the signification of " Institution,"
and endeavouring to make out a connection between the first
words and the verse of Scripture, when the sound of a cough
close behind me made me turn my head. I saw a girl sitting on
a stone bench near. She was bent over a book, on the perusal

JANE EYRE. 43

of which she seemed intent. From where I stood I could see the
title — it was "* Rasselas" — a name that struck me as strange,
and consequently attractive. In turning- a leaf she happened to
look up, and I said to her directly :

"Is your book interesting?" I had already formed the
intention of asking her to lend it to me some day.

" I like it," she answered, after a pause of a second or two,
during which she examined me.

"What is it about?" I continued. I hardly know where I
found the hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger.
The step was contrary to my nature and habits ; but I think her
occupation touched a chord of sympathy .somewhere, for I, too,
liked reading, though of a frivolous and childish kind. I could
not digest or comprehend the serious or substantial.

" You may look at it," replied the girl, offering me the book.

I did so. A brief examination convinced me that the contents
were less taking than the title. " Rasselas " looked dull to my
trifling taste. I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii ;
no bright variety seemed spread over the closely printed pages.
I returned it to her. She received it quietly, and, without saying
anything she was about to relapse into her former studious mood.
Again I ventured to disturb her :

" Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door
means ? What is Lowood Institution ?"

"This house where you are come to live."

" And why do they call it Institution ? Is it in any way
different from other schools ?"

II It is partly a charity-school. You and I, and all the rest of
us, are charity-children. I suppose you are an orphan. Are
not either your father or your mother dead ?"

11 Both died before I can remember."

11 Well, all the girls here have lost either one or both parents,
and this is called an institution for educating orphans."

" Do we pay no money ? Do they keep us for nothing ?"

" We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each."

"Then why do they call us charity-children ?"

" Because fifteen pounds is not enough for board and teaching,
and the deficiency is supplied by subscription."

" Who subscribes ?"

"Different benevolent-minded ladies and gentlemen in this
neighbourhood and in London."

" Who was Naomi Brocklehurst ?"

" The lady who built the new part of this house, as that tablet
records, and whose son overlooks and directs everything here."

"Why?"

" Because he is treasurer and manager of the establishment."

" Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who wears
a watch, and who said we were to have some bread and cheese."

"To Miss Temple? Oh, nol I wish it did. She has to

44 JANE EYRE.

answer to Mr. Brocklehurst for all she does. Mr. Brocklehurst
buys all our food and all our clothes."

" Does he live here ?"

" No — two miles off, at a large hall."

" Is he a good man ?"

" He is a clergyman, and is said to do a great deal of good."

" Did you say that tall lady was called Miss Temple ?"

" And what are the other teachers called ?"

" The one with red cheeks is called Miss Smith ; she attends
to the work, and cuts out — for we make our own clothes, our
frocks, and pelisses, and everything; the little one with black
hair is Miss Scatcherd ; she teaches history and grammar, and
hears the second class repetitions ; and the one who wears a
shawl, and has a pocket-handkerchief tied to her side with a
yellow riband, is Madame Pierrot: she comes from Lisle, in
France, and teaches French."

" Do you like the teachers ?"

"Well enough."

" Do you like the little black one, and the Madame ? — I

cannot pronounce her name as you do."

" Miss Scatcherd is hasty — you must take care not to offend
her; Madame Pierrot is not a bad sort of person."

" But Miss Temple is the best — isn't she ?"

" Miss Temple is very good, and very clever ; she is above the
rest, because she knows far more than they do."

" Have you been long here ?"

"Two years."

" Are you an orphan ?"

" My mother is dead."

" Are you happy here ?"

"You ask rather too many questions. I have given you
answers enough for the present. Now I want to read."

But at that moment the summons sounded for dinner. All
re-entered the house. The odour which now filled the refectory
was scarcely more appetising than that which had regaled our
nostrils at breakfast. The dinner was served in two huge tin-
plated vessels, whence rose a strong steam redolent of rancid fat.
I found the mess to consist of indifferent potatoes and strange
shreds of rusty meat, mixed and cooked together. Of this pre-
paration a tolerably abundant plateful was apportioned to each
pupil. I ate what I could, and wondered within myself whether
every day's fare would be like this.

After dinner, we immediately adjourned to the schoolroom.
Lessons recommenced, and were continued till five o'clock.

The only marked event of the afternoon was, that I saw the
girl with whom I had conversed in the verandah, dismissed in
disgrace, by Miss Scatcherd, from a history class, and sent to
stand in the middle of the large schoolroom. The punishment
seemed to me in a high degree ignominious, especially for so

JANE EYRE. 45

great a girl—she looked thirteen or upwards. I expected she
would show signs of great distress and shame; but to my surprise
she neither wept nor blushed. Composed, though grave, she
stood, the central mark of all eyes. "How can she bear it so
quietly— so firmly ?" I asked of myself. " Were I in her place,
it seems to me I should wish the earth to open and swallow me
up. ^ She looks as if she were thinking of something beyond her
punishment — beyond her situation : of something not round her
nor before her. I have heard of day-dreams — is she in a day-
dream now ? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but I am sure they
do not see it — her sight seems turned in, gone down into her
heart : she is looking at what she can remember, I believe ; not
at what is really present. I wonder what sort of a girl she is —
whether good or naughty."

Soon after five P. M. we had another meal, consisting of a
small mug of coffee, and half a slice of brown bread. I
devoured my bread and drank my coffee with relish ; but I
should have been glad of as much more — I was still hungry.
Half an hour's recreation succeeded, then study ; then the glass
of water and the piece of oatcake, prayers, and bed. Such was
my first day at Lowood.

CHAPTER VI.

THE next day commenced as before, getting up and dressing
by rushlight; but this morning we were obliged to dis-
pense with the ceremony of washing: the water in the pitchers
was frozen. A change had taken place in the weather the pre-
ceding evening, and a keen north-east wind, whistling through
the crevices of our bed-room windows all night long, had made
us shiver in our beds, and turned the contents of the ewers to ice.

Before the long hour and a half of prayers and Bible reading
was over, I felt ready to perish with cold. Breakfast-time came
at last, and this morning the porridge was not burnt ; the quality
was eatable, the quantity small ; how small my portion seemed 1
I wished it had been doubled.

In the course of the day I \vas enrolled a member of the fourth
class, and regular tasks and occupations were assigned me:
hitherto, I had only been x a spectator of the proceedings at
Lowood, I was now to become an actor therein. At first, being
little accustomed to learn by heart, the lessons appeared to me
both long and difficult : the frequent change from task to task,
too, bewildered me ; and I was glad, when, about three o'clock
in the afternoon, Miss Smith put in my hands a border of
muslin two yards long, together with needle, thimble, &c, and
sent me to sit in a quiet corner of the school-room, with direc-
tions to hem the same. At that hour most of the others were

46 JANE EYRE.

sewing likewise ; but one class still stood round Miss Scatcherd's
chair reading, and as all was quiet, the subject of their lessons
could be heard, together with the manner in which each girl
acquitted herself, and the animadversions or commendations of
Miss Scatcherd on the performance. It was English history:
among the readers, I observed my acquaintance of the verandah :
at the commencement of the lesson, her place had been at the
top of the class, but for some error of pronounciation or some
inattention to stops, she was suddenly sent to the very bottom.
Even in that obscure position, Miss Scatcherd continued to make
her an object of constant notice : she was continually addressing
to her such phrases as the following :

" Burns " (such it seems was her name : the girls here were all
called by their surnames, as boys are elsewhere,) "Burns, you
are standing on the side of your shoe, turn your toes out imme-
diately." " Burns, you poke your chin most unpleasantly, draw
it in." "Burns, I insist on your holding your head up: I will
not have you before me in that attitude," &c, &c.

A chapter having been read through twice, the books were
closed and the girls examined. The lesson had comprised part
of the reign of Charles I., and there were sundry questions
about tonnage and poundage, and ship-money, which most of
them appeared unable to answer ; still every little difficulty was
solved instantly when it reached Burns : her memory seemed to
have retained the substance of the whole lesson, and she was
ready with answers on every point. I kept expecting that Miss
Scatcherd would praise her attention ; but, instead of that, she
suddenly cried out :

"You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned your
nails this morning !"

Burns made no answer : I wondered at her silence.

"Why," thought I, "does she not explain that she could
neither clean her nails nor wash her face, as the water was
frozen ?"

My attention was now called off by Miss Smith desiring me to
hold a skein of thread : while she was winding it, she talked to
me from time to time, asking whether I had ever been at school
before, whether I could mark, stitch, knit, &c. ; till she dis-
missed me, I could not pursue my observations on Miss
Scatcherd' s movements. When I returned to my seat, that
lady was just delivering an order, of which I did not catch the
import; but Burns immediately left the class, and, going into
the small inner room where the books were kept, returned in
half a minute, carrying in her hand a bundle of twigs tied
together at one end. This ominous tool she presented to Miss
Scatcherd with a respectful courtesy ; then she quietly, and with-
out being told, unloosed her pinafore, and the teacher instantly
and sharply inflicted on her neck a dozen strokes with the
bunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to Burns' eye ; and, while I
paused from my sewing, because my fingers quivered at this

JANE EYRE. 47

spectacle with a sentiment of unavailing and impotent anger, not
a feature of her pensive face altered its ordinary expression.

" Hardened girl 1" exclaimed Miss Scatcherd ; "nothing can
correct you of your slatternly habits : carry the rod away."

Burns obeyed : I looked at her narrowly as she emerged from
the book-closet ; she was just putting back her handkerchief into
her pocket, and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek.

The play-hour in the evening I thought the pleasantest fraction
of the day at Lowood : the bit of bread, the draught of coffee
swallowed at five o'clock had revived vitality, if it had not
satisfied hunger ; the long restraint of the day was slackened ;
the schoolroom felt warmer than in the morning — its fires being
allowed to burn a little more brightly to supply, in some
measure, the place of candles, not yet introduced ; the ruddy
gloaming, the licensed uproar, the confusion of many voices
gave one a welcome sense of liberty.

On the evening of the day on which I had seen Miss Scatcherd
flog her pupil, Burns, I wandered as usual among the forms and
tables and laughing groups without a companion, yet not feeling
lonely : when I passed the windows I now and then lifted a blind
and looked out; it snowed fast, a drift was already forming
against the lower panes ; putting my ear close to the window, I
could distinguish from the gleeful tumult within, the disconsolate
moan of the wind outside.

Probably, if I had lately left a good home and kind parents,
this would have been the hour when I should most keenly have
regretted the separation : that wind would then have saddened
my heart; this obscure chaos would have disturbed my peace:
as it was, I derived from both a strange excitement, and, reck-
less and feverish, I wished the wind to howl more wildly, the
gloom to deepen to darkness, and the confusion to nse to
clamour.

Jumping over forms, and creeping under tables, I made my
way to one of the fire-places : there, kneeling by the high wire
fender, I found Burns, absorbed, silent, abstracted from all
around her by the companionship of a book, which she read by
the dim glare of the embers.

" Is it still ' Rasselas' ?" I asked, coming behind her.

" Yes," she said, " and I have just finished it."

And in five minutes more she shut it up. I was glad of this.

"Now," thought I, "I can perhaps get her to talk." I sat
down by her on the floor.

" What is your name besides Burns ?"

"Helen."

" Do you come a long way from here ?"

" I come from a place further north ; quite on the borders of
Scotland."

" Will you ever go back ?"

" I hope so ; but nobody can be sure of the future,"

" You must wish to leave Lowood? "

48 JANE EYRE.

" No : why should I ? I was sent to Lowood to get an educa-
tion ; and it would be of no use going away until I have attained
that object."

" But that teacher, Miss Scatcherd, is so cruel to you ?"

"Cruel? Not at all! She is severe : she dislikes my faults."

" And if I were in your place I should dislike her ; I should
resist her ; if she struck me with that rod, I should get it from
her hand ; I should break it under her nose."

" Probably you would do nothing of the sort : but if you did,
Mr. Brocklehurst would expel you from the school ; that would
be a great grief to your relations. It is far better to endure
patiently a smart which nobody feels but yourself, than to com-
mit a hasty action whose evil consequences will extend to all
connected with you ; and besides, the Bible bids us, to return
good for evil."

" But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and to be sent
to stand in the middle of a room full of people ; and you are such
a great girl : I am far younger than you, and I could not bear
it."

"Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid
it : it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate
to be required to bear."

I heard her with wonder : I could not comprehend this doctrine
of endurance ; and still less could I understand or sympathise
with the forbearance she expressed for her chastiser. Still I felt
that Helen Burns considered things by a light invisible to my
eyes. I suspected she might be right and I wrong; but I would
not ponder the matter deeply : like Felix, I put it off to a more
convenient season.

" You say you have faults, Helen : what are they ? To me you
seem very good."

" Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances : I am, as
Miss Scatcherd said, slatternly ; I seldom put, and never keep,
things in order ; I am careless ; I forget rules ; I read when I
should learn my lessons ; I have no method ; and sometimes I
say, like you, I cannot bear to be subjected to systematic
arrangements. This is all very provoking to Miss Scatcherd,
who is naturally neat, punctual, and particular."

"And cross and cruel," I added; but Helen Burns would not
admit my addition : she kept silence.

" Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd ?"

At the utterance of Miss Temple's name, a soft smile flitted
over her grave face.

" Miss Temple is full of goodness : it pains her to be severe to
any one, even the worst in the school : she sees my errors, and
tells me of them gently ; and, if I do anything worthy of praise,
she gives me my meed liberally. One strong proof of my
wretchedly defective nature is, that even her expostulations, so
mild, so rational, have not influence to cure me of my faults ; and

JANE EYRE. 49

even her praise, though I value it most highly, cannot stimulate
me to continued care and foresight."

" That is curious," said I : "it is so easy to be careful."

" Y ox you I have no doubt it is. I observed you in your class
this morning, and saw you were closely attentive : your thoughts
never seemed to wander while Miss Miller explained the lesson
and questioned you. Now, mine continually rove away : when I
should be listening to Miss Scatcherd, and collecting all she
says with assiduity, often I lose the very sound of her voice ; I
fall into a sort of dream. Sometimes I think I am in Northum-
berland, and that the noises I hear round me are the bubbling of
a little brook which runs through Deepden, near our house ; —
then, when it comes to my turn to reply, I have to be wakened ;
and, having heard nothing of what was read for listening to the
visionary brook, I have no answer ready."

"Yet how well you answered this afternoon."

"It was mere chance: the subject on which we had been
reading had interested me. This afternoon, instead of dreaming
of Deepden, I was wondering how a man who wished to do right
could act so unjustly and unwisely as Charles the First some-
times did; and I thought what a pity it was that, with his
integrity and conscientiousness, he could see no farther than the
prerogatives of the crown. If he had but been able to look to a
distance, and see how what they call the spirit of the age was
tending! Still, I like Charles — I respect him— I pity him, poor
murdered king! Yes, his enemies were the worst: they shed
blood they had no right to shed. How dared they kill him !"

Helen was talking to herself now: she had forgotten I could
not very well understand her— that I was ignorant or nearly so,
of the subject she discussed. I recalled her to my level.

"And when Miss Temple teaches you do your thoughts
wander then?"

"No, certainly, not often ; because Miss Temple has generally
something to say which is newer than my own reflections: her
language is singularly agreeable to me, and the information she
communicates is often just what I wished to gain."

" Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good ?"

"Yes, in a passive way: I make no effort; I follow as
inclination guides me. There is no merit in such goodness."

"A great deal: you are good to those who are good to you.
It is all I ever desire to be. If people were always kind and
obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people
would have it all their own way: they would never feel afraid,
and so they would never alter, but would grow worse and worse.
When we are struck at without a reason, we should strike back
again very hard ; I am sure we should — so hard as to teach the
person who struck us never to do it again."

"You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older:
as yet you are but a little untaught ^irl."

" But I feel this, Helen : I must dislike those who, whatever I

D

50 JANE EYRE.

do to please them, persist in disliking me ; I must resist those
who punish me unjustly. It is as natural as that I should love
those who show me affection, or submit to punishment when 1
feel it is deserved."

"Heathens and savage tribes hold (hat doctrine; but
Christians and civilised nations disown it."

"How? I don't understand."

" It is not violence that best overcomes hate — nor vengeance
that most certainly heals injury."

"What then?"

" Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says,
and how He acts ; make His word your rule, and His conduct
your example."

" What does He say ?"

" Love your enemies ; bless them that curse you; do good to
them that hate you and despitefully use you."

"Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should
bless her son John, which is impossible."

In her turn, Helen Burns asked me to explain ; and I proceeded
forthwith to pour out, in my own way, the tale of my sufferings
and resentments. Bitter and truculent when excited, I spoke as
I felt, without reserve or softening.

Helen heard me patiently to the end ; I expected she would
then make a remark, but she said nothing.

"Well," I asked impatiently, "is not Mrs. Reed a hard-
hearted, bad woman?"

" She has been unkind to you, no doubt, because, you see, she
dislikes your cast of character, as Miss Scatcherd does mine;
but how minutely you remember all she has done and said to
you ! What a singularly deep impression her injustice seems to
have made on your heart ! No ill-usage so brands its record on
my feelings. Would you not be happier if you tried to forget her
severity, together with the passionate emotions it excited? Life
appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity, or
registering wrongs. We are, and must be, one and all, burdened
with faults in this world; but the time will soon come when, I
trust, we shall put them off in putting off our corruptible bodies ;
when debasement and sin will fall from us with this cumbrous
frame of flesh, and only the spark of the spirit will remain — the
impalpable principle of life and thought, pure as when it left the
Creator to inspire the creature ; whence it came it will return,
perhaps again to be communicated to some being higher than
man — perhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from the pale
human soul to brighten to the seraph ! Surely it will never, on
the contrary, be suffered to degenerate from man to fiend ? No,
1 cannot believe that ; I hold another creed, which no one ever
taught me, and which I seldom mention, but in which I delight,
and to which I cling, for it extends hope to all ; it makes Eternity
a rest — a mighty home, not a terror and an abyss. Besides,
with this creed, I can so clearly distinguish between the criminal

JAKE EYRE. 51

and his crime, I can so sincerely forgive the first while I abhor
the last ; with this creed revenge never worries my heart,
degradation never too deeply disgusts me, injustice never
crushes me too low; I live in calm, looking to the end."

Helen's head, always drooping, sank a little lower as she
finished this sentence. I saw by her look she wished no longer
to talk to me, but rather to converse with her own thoughts.
She was not allowed much time for meditation. A monitor, a
great rough girl, presently came up, exclaiming, in a strong
Cumberland accent :

"Helen Burns, if you don't go and put your drawer in order,
and fold up vour work this minute, I'll tell Miss Scatcherd to
come and look at it !"

Helen sighed as her reverie fled, and getting up, obeyed the
monitor without reply as without delay.

CHAPTER VII.

MY first quarter at Lowood seemed an age, and not the
golden age either ; it comprised an irksome struggle with
difficulties in habituating myself to new rules and unwonted
tasks. The fear of failure in these points harassed me worse
than the physical hardships of my lot, though these were no
trifles.

During January, February, and part of March, the deep snows,
and, after their melting, the almost impassable roads, prevented
our stirring beyond the garden walls, except to go to church, but
within these limits we had to pass an hour every day in the open
air. Our clothing was insufficient to protect us from the severe
cold ; we had no boots, the snow got into our shoes, and melted
there ; our ungloved hands became numb and covered with chil-
blains, as were our feet. I remember well the distracting irritation
I endured from this cause every evening, when my feet inflamed,
and the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and stiff toes into
my shoes in the morning. Then the scanty supply of food was
distressing; with the keen appetites of growing children, we had
scarcely sufficient to keep alive a delicate invalid. From this
deficiency of nourishment resulted an abuse which pressed hardly
on the younger pupils : whenever the famished great girls had
an opportunity they would coax or menace the little ones out of
their portion. Many a time I have shared between two claimants
the precious morsel of brown bread distributed at tea-time, and
after relinquishing to a third half of the contentsof my mug of
coffee I have swallowed the remainder with an accompaniment
of secret tears, forced from me by the exigency of hunger.

Sundays were dreary days in that wintry season. We had to

52 JANE EYRE.

walk two miles to Brocklebridge Church, where our patron
officiated. We set out cold, we arrived at church colder ; during
the morning service we became almost paralysed. It was too
far to return to dinner, and an allowance of cold meat and bread,
in the same penuricus proportion observed in our ordinary meals,
was served round between the services.

At the close of the afternoon service we returned by an exposed
and hilly road, where the bitter winter wind, blowing over a range
of snowy summits to the north, almost flayed the skin from our
faces.

I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and rapidly
along our drooping line, her plaid cloak, which the frosty wind
fluttered, gathered close about her, and encouraging us, by pre-
cept and example, to keep up our spirits, and march forward, as
she said, "like stalwart soldiers." The other teachers, poor
things, were generally themselves too much dejected to attempt
the task of cheering others.

How we longed for the light and heat of a blazing fire when
we got back ! But, to the little ones at least, this was denied :
each hearth in the schoolroom was immediately surrounded by a
double row of great girls, and behind them the younger children
crouched in groups, wrapping their starved arms in their
pinafores.

A little solace came at tea-time, in the shape of a double
ration of bread — a whole, instead of a half, slice — with the deli-
cious addition of a thin scrap of butter : it was the hebdomadal
treat to which we all looked forward from Sabbath to Sabbath.
I generally contrived to reserve a moiety of this bounteous repast
for myself; but the remainder I was invariably obliged to part
with.

The Sunday evening was spent in repeating, by heart, the
Church Catechism, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of
St. Matthew ; and in listening to a long sermon, read by Miss
Miller, whose irrepressible yawns attested her weariness. A
frequent interlude of these performances was the enactment of
the part of Eutychus by some half-dozen of little girls ; who,
overpowered with sleep, would fall down, if not out of the third
loft, yet off the fourth form, and be taken up half dead. The
remedy was, to thrust them forward into the centre of the school-
room, and oblige them to stand there till the sermon was finished.
Sometimes their feet failed them, and they sank together in a
heap ; they were then propped up with the monitors' high stools.

I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brocklehurst ; and
indeed that gentleman was from home during the greater part of
the first month after my arrival, perhaps prolonging his stay with
his friend the archdeacon : his absence was a relief to me. I
need not say that I had my own reasons for dreading his coming,
but come he did at last.

One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at Lowood), as I
was sitting with a slate in .my hand, puzzling over a .sum in long

JANE EYRE. 53

division, my eyes, raised in abstraction to the window, caught
sight of a figure just passing : I recognized almost instinctively
that gaunt outline ; and when, two minutes after, all the school,
teachers included, rose en masse, it was not necessary for me to
look up in order to ascertain whose entrance they thus greeted.
A long stride measured the schoolroom, and presently beside
Miss Temple, who herself had risen, stood the same black
column which had frowned on me so ominously from the hearth-
rug of Gateshead. I now glanced sideways at this piece of
architecture. Yes, I was right: it was Mr. Brocklehurst, but-
toned up in a surtout, and looking longer, narrower, and more
rigid than ever.

I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this apparition ;
too well I remembered the perfidious hints given by Mrs. Reed
about my disposition, &c. ; the promise pledged by Mr. Brockle-
hurst to apprise Miss Temple and the teachers of my vicious
nature. All along I had been dreading the fulfilment of this
promise — I had been looking out daily for the "Coming Man,"
whose information respecting my past life and conversation was
to brand me as a bad child for ever : now there he was. He
Stood at Miss Temple's side ; he was speaking low in her ear : I
did not doubt he was making disclosures of my villany ; and I
watched her eye with painful anxiety, expecting every moment to
see its dark orb turn on me a glance of repugnance and con-
tempt. I listened too ; and as I happened to be seated quite at
the top of the room, I caught most of what he said : its import
relieved me from immediate apprehension.

" I suppose, Miss Temple, the thread I bought at Lowton will
do j it struck me that it would be just of the quality for the calico
chemises, and I sorted the needles to match. You may tell
Miss Smith that I forgot to make a memorandum of the claming
needles, but she shall have some papers sent in next week ; and
6he is not, on any account, to give out more than one at a time
to each pupil — if they have more, they are apt to be careless and
lose them. And oh, ma'am I I wish the woollen stockings were
better looked to ! when I was here last, I went into the kitchen
garden and examined the clothes on the line; there was a
quantity of black hose in a very bad state of repair; from the
6ize of the holes in them I was sure they had not been well
mended from time to time."

He paused.

" Your directions shall be attended to, sir," said Miss Temple.

"And, ma'am," he continued, "the laundress tells me some
of the girls have two clean tuckers in a week: it is too much ;
the rules limit them to one."

" I think I can explain that circumstance, sir. Agnes and
Catherine Johnstone were invited to take tea with some friends at
Lowton last Thursday, and I gave them leave to put on clean
tuckers for the occasion."

Mr. Brocklehurst nodded.

54 JANE EYRE.

" Well, for once it may pass ; but please not to let the circum-
stance occur too often. And there is another thing which sur-
prised me : I find, in settling accounts with the housekeeper,
that a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, has twice been
served out to the girls during the past fortnight. How is this ?
I look over the regulations, and I find no such meal as lunch
mentioned. Who introduced this innovation ? and by what
authority?"

" I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir," replied Miss
Temple : " the breakfast was so ill-prepared that the pupils could
not possibly eat it ; and I dared not allow them to remain fasting
till dinner time."

"Madame, allow me an instant. You are aware that my
plan in bringing up these girls is, not to accustom them to habits
of luxury and indulgence, but to render them hardy, patient, self-
denying. Should any little accidental disappointment of the
appetite occur, such as the spoiling of a meal, the under or the
over dressing of a dish, the incident ought not to be neutralised
by replacing with something more delicate the comfort lost, thus
pampering the body and obviating the aim of this institution ; it
ought to be improved to the spiritual edification of the pupils, by
encouraging them to evince fortitude under the temporary priva-
tion. A brief address on those occasions would not be mistimed,
wherein a judicious instructor would take the opportunity of
referring to the sufferings of the primitive Christians ; to the tor-
ments of martyrs ; to the exhortations of our blessed Lord Him-
self, calling upon His disciples to take up their cross and follow
Him ; to His warnings that man shall not live by bread alone,
but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God ; to
His divine consolations, ' if ye suffer hunger or thirst for My sake
happy are ye.' Oh, madam, when you put bread and cheese,
instead of burnt porridge, into these children's mouths, you may
indeed feed their vile bodies, but you little think how you starve
their immortal souls."

Mr. Brocklehurst again paused — perhaps overcome by his feel-
ings. Miss Temple had looked down when he first began to
speak to her ; but she now gazed straight before her, and her
face, naturally pale as marble, appeared to be assuming also the
coldness and fixity of that material ; especially her mouth, closed
as if it would have required a sculptor's chisel to open it, and her
brow settled gradually into petrified severity.

Meantime, Mr. Brocklehurst, standing on the hearth with his
hands behind his back, majestically surveyed the whole school.
Suddenly his eye gave a blink, as if it had met something that
either dazzled or shocked its pupil: turning, he said in more
rapid accents than he had hitherto used :

" Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what — what is that girl with
curled hair? Red hair, ma'am, curled — curled all over?" And
extending his cane he pointed to the awful object, his hand
shaking as he did so.

JANE EYRE. 55

"It is Julia Severn," replied Miss Temple, very quietly.

"Julia Severn, ma'am ! And why has she, or any other, curled
hair } Why, in defiance of every precept and principle of this
house, does she conform to the world so openly — here in an
evangelical, charitable establishment — as to wear her hair one
mass of curls?"

"Julia's hair curls naturally," returned Miss Temple, still
more quietly.

" Naturally ! Yes, but we are not to conform to nature. I wish
these girls to be the children of Grace: and why that abundance?
I have again and again intimated that I desire the hair to be
arranged closely, modestly, plainly. Miss Temple, that girl's
hair must be cut off entirely ; I will send a barber to-morrow :
and I see others who have far too much of the excrescence — that
tall girl, tell her to turn round. Tell all the first form to rise up
and direct their faces to the wall."

Miss Temple passed her handkerchief over her lips, as if to
smooth away the involuntary smile that curled them ; she gave
the order, however, and when the first class could take in what
was required of them, they obeyed. Leaning a little back on my
bench, I could sec the looks and grimaces with which they com-
mented on this manoeuvre : it was a pity Mr. Brocklehurst could
not see them too ; he would perhaps have felt that, whatever he
might do with the outside of the cup and platter, the inside was
further beyond his interference than he imagined.

He scrutinised the reverse of these living medals some five
minutes, then pronounced sentence. These words fell like the
knell of doom :

"All those top-knots must be cut off."

Miss Temple seemed to remonstrate.

"Madam," he pursued, "I have a Master to serve whose
kingdom is not of this world : my mission is to mortify in these
girls the lusts of the flesh ; to teach them to clothe themselves
with shame-facedness and sobriety, not with braided hair and
costly apparel ; and each of the young persons before us has a
string of hair twisted in plaits which vanity itself might have
woven : these I repeat, must be cut off: think of the time wasted,
of "

Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors,
la lies, now entered the room. They ought to have come a little
sooner to have heard his lecture on dress, for they were splendidly
attired in velvet, silk, and furs. The two younger of the trio
(fine girls of sixteen and seventeen) had grey beaver hats, then in
fashion, shaded with ostrich plumes, and from under the brim of
this graceful head-dress fell a profusion of light tresses, elabor-
ately curled ; the elder lady was enveloped in a costly velvet
shawl, trimmed with ennine, and she wore a false front of Krench
curls.

These ladies were deferentially received by Miss Temple, as
Mrs. and the Misses Brocklehurst, and conducted to seats of

56 JANE EYRE.

honour at the top of the room. It seems they had come in the
carriage with their reverend relative, and had been conducting a
rummaging scrutiny of the rooms upstairs, while he transacted
business with the housekeeper, questioned the laundress, and
lectured the superintendent. They now proceeded to address
divers remarks and reproofs to Miss Smith, who was charged
with the care of the linen and the inspection of the dormitories:
but I had no time to listen to what they said, other matters called
off and enchained my attention.

Hitherto, while gathering up the discourse of Mr. Brocklehurst
and Miss Temple, I had not, at the same time, neglected precau-
tions to secure my personal safety ; which I thought would be
effected if I could only elude observation. To this end, I had
sat well back on the form, and while seeming to be busy with my
sum, had held my slate in such a manner as to conceal my face :
I might have escaped notice, had not my treacherous slate some-
how happened to slip from my hand, and falling with an ob-
trusive crash, directly drawn every eye upon me ; I knew it was
all over now, and, as I stooped to pick up the two fragments of
slate, I rallied my forces for the worst. It came.

"A careless girl!" said Mr. Brocklehurst, and immediately
after — "It is the new pupil, I perceive." And before I could
draw breath, " I must not forget I have a word to say respecting
her." Then aloud — how loud it seemed to me ! — " Let the child
who broke her slate come forward !"

Of my own accord, I could not have stirred ; I was paralysed :
but the two great girls who sat on each side of me set me on my
legs and pushed me towards the dread judge, and then Miss
Temple gently assisted me to his very feet, and I caught her
whispered counsel :

"Don't be afraid, Jane, I saw it was an accident; you shall
not be punished."

The kind whisper went to my heart like a dagger.

" Another minute and she will despise me for a hypocrite,"
thought I ; and an impulse of fury against Reed, Brocklehurst,
and Co. bounded in my pulses at the conviction. I was no Helen
Burns.

" Fetch that stool," said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing to a very
high one from which a monitor had just risen : it was brought.

" Place the child upon it."

And I was placed there, by whom I don't know. I was in no
condition to note particulars. I was only aware that they had
hoisted me up to the height of Mr. Brocklehurst' s nose,, that he
was within a yard of me, and that a spread of shot orange and
purple silk pelisses and a cloud of silvery plumage extended and
waved below me.

Mr. Brocklehurst hemmed.

"Ladies," said he, turning to his family; "Miss Temple,
teachers, and children, you all see this girl ?"

JANE EYRE. 57

Of course they did ; for I felt their eyes directed like burning-
glasses against my scorched skin.

"You see she is yet young; you observe she possesses the
ordinary form of childhood ; God has graciously given her the
shape that He has given to all of us; no signal deformity points
her out as a marked character. Who would think that the Evil
One had already found a servant and agent in her ? Yet such, I
grieve to say, is the case."

A pause — in which I began to steady the palsy of my nerves,
and to feel that the Rubicon was passed, and that the trial, no
longer to be shirked, must be firmly sustained.

"My dear children," pursued the black marble clergyman,
with pathos, "this is a sad, a melancholy occasion; for it be-
comes my duty to warn you that this girl, who might be one of
God's own lambs, is a little castaway — not a member of the true
flock, but evidently an interloper and an alien. You must be on
your guard against her ; you must shun her example — if neces-
sary, avoid her company, exclude her from your sports, and shut
her out from your converse. Teachers, you must watch her:
keep your eyes on her movements, weigh well her words, scruti-
nise her actions, punish her body to save her soul — if, indeed,
such salvation be possible, for (my tongue falters while I tell it,)
this girl, this child, the native of a Christian land, worse than
many a little heathen who says its prayers to Brahma and kneels
before Juggernaut — this girl is— a liar!"

Now came a pause of ten minutes, during which I — by this
time in perfect possession of my wits — observed all the female
Brocklehursts produce their pocket-handkerchiefs and apply them
to their optics, while the elderly lady swayed herself to and fro,
and the two younger ones whispered, " How shocking 1"

Mr. Brocklehurst resumed.

"This I learned from her benefactress — from the pious and
charitable lady who adopted her in her orphan state, reared
her as her own daughter, and whose kindness, whose generosity
the unhappy girl repaid by an ingratitude so bad, so dreadful,
that at last her excellent patroness was obliged to separate her
from her own young ones, fearful lest her vicious example should
contaminate their purity. She has sent her here to be healed,
even as the Jews of old sent their diseased to the troubled pool
of Bethesda ; and, teachers, superintendent, I beg of you not to
allow the waters to stagnate round her."

With this sublime conclusion Mr. Brocklehurst adjusted the
top button of his surtout, muttered something to his family, who
rose, bowed to Miss Temple, and then all the great people sailed
in state from the room. Turning at the door, my judge said :

" Let her stand half an hour longer on that stool, and let no
one speak to her during the remainder of the day."

There was I, then, mounted aloft : I, who had said I could not
bear the shame of standing on my natural feet in the middle of
the room, was now exposed to general view on a pedestal of

58 JANE EYRE.

infamy. What my sensations were no language can describe ;
but, just as they all rose, stifling my breath and constricting my
throat, a girl came up and passed me : in passing, she lifted her
eyes. What a strange light inspired them ! What an extra-
ordinary sensation that ray sent through me ! How the new
feeling bore me up ! It was as if a martyr, a hero, had passed
a slave or victim, and imparted strength in the transit. I
mastered the rising hysteria, lifted up my head, and took a firm
stand on the stool. Helen Burns asked some slight question
about her work of Miss Smith, was chidden for the triviality of
the inquiry, returned to her place, and smiled at me as she
again went by. What a smile ! I remember it now, and I
know that it was the effluence of fine intellect, of true courage ;
it lit up her marked lineaments, her thin face, her sunken grey
eye, like a reflection from the aspect of an angel. Yet at that
moment Helen Burns wore on her arm "the untidy badge;"
scarcely an hour ago I had heard her condemned by Miss
Scatcherd to a dinner of bread and water on the morrow,
because she had blotted an exercise in copying it out. Such is
the imperfect nature of man ! Such spots are there on the disc
of the clearest planet ; and eyes like Miss Scatcherd's can only
see those minute defects, and are blind to the full brightness of
the orb.

CHAPTER VIII.

ERE the half hour ended, rive o'clock struck; school was
dismissed, and all were gone into the refectory to tea. I
now ventured to descend : it was deep dusk ; I retired into a
corner and sat down on the floor. The spell by which I had
been so far supported began to dissolve ; reaction took place,
and soon, so overwhelming was the grief that seized me, I sank
prostrate with my face to the ground. Now I wept: Helen
Burns was not here ; nothing sustained me ; left to myself I
abandoned myself, and my tears watered the boards. I had
meant to be so good, and to do 7 so much at Lowood : to make
so many friends, to earn respect, and win affection. Already I
had made visible progress : that very morning I had reached
the head of my class ; Miss Miller had praised me warmly :
Miss Temple had smiled approbation; she had promised to
teach me drawing, and to let me learn French, if I continued
to make similar improvement two months longer: and then I
was well received by my fellow-pupils ; treated as an equal by
those of my own age, and not molested by any; now, here I lay
again crushed and trodden on ; and could I ever rise more ?

"Never," I thought; and ardently I wished to die. While
sobbing out this wish in broken accents, some one approached :

JANE EYRE. 5Q

I started up— again Helen Burns was near me; the fading fires
just showed her coming up the long, vacant room ; she brought
my coffee and bread.

"Come, eat something," she said; but I put both away from
me, feeling as if a drop or a crumb would have choked me in
my present condition. Helen regarded me, probably with sur-
prise : I could not now abate my agitation, though I tried hard ;
I continued to weep aloud. She sat down on the ground near
me, embraced her knees with her arms, and rested her head
upon them ; in that attitude she remained silent as an Indian. I
\yas the first who spoke :

" Helen, why do you stay with a girl whom everybody believes
to be a liar?"

"Everybody, Jane? Why, there are only eighty people who
have heard you called so, and the world contains hundreds of
millions."

"But what have I to do with millions? The eighty I know
despise me."

"Jane, you are mistaken: probably not one in the school
either despises or dislikes you : many, I am sure, pity you
much."

" How can they pity me after what Mr. Brocklehurst said ?"

"Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god : nor is he even a great and
admired man : he is little liked here ; he never took steps to
make himself liked. Had he treated you as an especial
favourite, you would have found enemies, declared or covert,
all around you ; as it is, the greater number would offer vou
sympathy if they dared. Teachers and pupils may look coldly
on you for a day or two, but friendly feelings are concealed in
their hearts; and if you persevere in doing well, these feelings
will ere long appear so much the more evidently for their
temporary suppression. Besides, Jane," She paused.

"Well* Helen?" said I, putting my hand into hers. She
chafed my fingers gently to warm them, and went on :

" If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while
your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt,
you would not be without friends."

"No; I know I should think well of myself; but that is not
enough : if others don't love me, I would rather die than live — I
cannot bear to be solitary and hated, Helen. Look here; to
gain some real affection from you, or Miss Temple, or any other
whom I truly love, I would willingly submit to have the bone of
my arm broken, or to let a bull toss me, or to stand behind a
kicking horse, and let it dash its hoof at my chest,"

"Hush, Jane! you think too much of the love of human
beings ; you are too impulsive, too vehement : the sovereign
hand that created your frame, and" put life into it, has provided
you with other resources than your feeble self, or than creatures
feeble as you. Besides this earth, and besides the race of men,
there is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits : that world

60 JANEEYRE

is found us, for it is everywhere ; and those spirits watch us, for
they are commissioned to guard us ; and if we were dying in
pain and shame, if scorn smote us on all sides, and hatred
crushed us, angels see our tortures, recognise our innocence (if
innocent we be : as I know you are of this charge which Mr.
Brocklehurst has weakly and pompously repeated at second-hand
from Mrs. Reed ; for I read a sincere nature in your ardent eyes
and on your clear front,) and God waits only the separation of
spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why, then,
should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so
soon over, and death is so certain an entrance to happiness — to
glory?"

I was silent : Helen had calmed me ; but in the tranquillity she
imparted there was an alloy of inexpressible sadness. I felt the
impression of woe as she spoke, but I could not tell whence it
came ; and, when, having done speaking, she breathed a little
fast and coughed a short cough, I momentarily forgot my own
sorrows to }deld to a vague concern for her.

Resting my head on Helen's shoulder, I put my arms round
her waist; she drew me to her, and we reposed in silence. We
had not sat long thus, when another person came in. Some
heavy clouds, swept from the sky by a rising wind, had left the
moon bare ; and her light, streaming in through a window near,
shone full both on us and on the approaching figure, which we at
once recognised as Miss Temple.

"I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre," said she; "I
want you in my room ; and as Helen Burns is with you, she may
come too."

We went; following the superintendent's guidance, we had to
thread some intricate passages, and mount a staircase before we
reached her apartment; it contained a good fire, and looked
cheerful. Miss Temple told Helen Burns to be seated in a low
arm-chair on one side of the hearth, and herself taking another,
she called me to her side.

"Is it all over?" she asked, looking down at my face.
" Have you cried your grief away ?"

" 1 am afraid I never shall do that."

"Why?"

" Because I have been wrongly accused ; and you, ma'am, and
everybody else will now think me wicked."

"We shall think you what you prove yourself to be, my child.
Continue to act as a good girl, and you will satisfy us."

" Shall I, Miss Temple ?"

"You will," said she, passing her arm round me. "And now
tell me who is the lady whom Mr. Brocklehurst called your
benefactress ?"

" Mrs. Reed, my uncle's Wife. My uncle is dead, and left me
to her care."

" Did she not, then, adopt you of her own accord ?"

" No, ma'am ; she was sorry to have to do it : but my uncle.

JANE EYRE. 6l

as I have often heard the servants say, got her to promise before
he died, that she would always keep me."

"Well now, Tane, you know, or at least I will tell you, that
when a criminal is accused, he is allowed to speak in his own
defence. You have been charged with falsehood ; defend your-
self to me as well as you can. Say whatever your memory sug-
gests as true ; but add nothing ana exaggerate nothing."

I resolved, in the depth of my heart, that I would be most
moderate — most correct ; and, having reflected a few minutes in
order to arrange coherently what I had to say, I told her all the
story of my sad childhood. Exhausted by emotion, my language
was more subdued than it generally was when it developed that
sad theme ; and mindful of Helen's warnings against the indul-
gence of resentment, I infused into the narrative far Jess of gall
and wormwood than ordinary. Thus restrained and simplified,
it sounded more credible : I felt as I went on that Miss Temple
fully believed me.

In the course of the tale I had mentioned Mr. Lloyd as having
come to see me after the fit : for I never forgot the, to me, fright-
ful episode of the red-room ; in detailing which, my excitement
was sure, in some degree, to break bounds ; for nothing could
soften in my recollection the spasm of agony which clutched my
heart when Mrs. Reed spurned my wild supplication for pardon,
and locked me a second time in the dark and haunted chamber.

I had finished : Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in
silence ; she then said :

" I know something of Mr. Lloyd ; I shall write to him ; if his
reply agrees with your statement, you shall be publicly cleared
from every imputation : to me, Jane, you are clear now."

She kissed me, and still keeping me at her side (where I was
well contented to stand, for I derived a child's pleasure from the
contemplation of her face, her dress, her one or two ornaments,
her white forehead, her clustered and shining curls, and beaming
dark eyes,) she proceeded to address Helen Burns.

" How are you to-night, Helen ? Have you coughed much
to-day?"

" Not quite so much I think, ma'am."

" And the pain in your chest ?"

"It is a little better."

Miss Temple got up, took her hand and examined her pulse ;
then she returned to her own seat : as she resumed it, I heard
her sigh low. She was pensive a few minutes; then rousing
herself, she said cheerfully :

" Hut you two are my visitors to-night ; I must treat you as
such." She rang her bell.

" Barbara," she said to the servant who answered it, ** I have
not yet had tea ; bring the tray, and place cups for these two
young ladies."

And a tray was soon brought. How pretty to my eyes, did the
china cups and bright teapot look, placed on the little round

62 JANE EYRE.

table near the fire ! How fragrant was the steam of the bever-
age, and the scent of the toast ! of which, however, I to my dis-
may (for I was beginning to be hungry), discerned not only a
very small portion : Miss Temple discerned it too.

"Barbara," said she, "can you not bring a little more bread
and butter ? There is not enough for three."

Barbara went out. She returned soon.

"Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual
quantity."

Mrs. Harden, be it observed, was the housekeeper, a woman
after Mr. Brocklehurst's own heart, made up of equal parts of
whalebone and iron.

"Oh, very well!" returned Miss Temple; "we must make it
do, Barbara, I suppose." And as the girl withdrew, she added,
smiling, " Fortunately, I have it in my power to supply
deficiencies for this once."

Having invited Helen and me to approach the table, and
placed before each of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin
morsel of toast, she got up, unlocked a drawer, and taking from
it a parcel wrapped in paper, disclosed presently to our eyes a
good-sized seed-cake.

" I meant to give each of you some of this to take with you,"
said she ; " but as there is so little toast, you must have it now,"
and she proceeded to cut slices with a generous hand.

We feasted that evening as on nectar and ambrosia ; and not
the least delight of the entertainment was the smile of gratifica-
tion with which our hostess regarded us, as we satisfied our
famished appetites on the delicate fare she liberally supplied.
Tea over and the tray removed, she again summoned us to the
fire ; we sat one on each side of her, and now a conversation
followed between her and Helen, which it was indeed a privilege
to be admitted to hear.

Miss Temple had always something of serenity in her air, of
state in her mien, of refined propriety in her language, which
precluded deviation into the ardent, the excited, the eager :
something which chastened the pleasure of those who looked on
her and listened to her, by a controlling sense of awe ; and such
was my feeling now : but as to Helen Burns, I was struck with
wonder.

The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence and kind-
ness of her beloved instructress, or, perhaps, more than all these,
something in her own unique mind, had roused her powers within
her. They woke, they kindled : first, they glowed in the bright
tint of her cheek, which till this hour I had never seen but pale
and bloodless ; then they shone in the liquid lustre of her eyes,
which had suddenly acquired a beauty more singular than that of
Miss Temple's — a beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash,
nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance.
Then her soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what
source I cannot tell : has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough,

JANE EYRE. 63

vigorous enough to hold the swelling spring of pure, full, fervid
eloquence? Such was the characteristic of Helen's discourse on
that, to me, memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to
live within a very brief span as much as many live during a
protracted existence.

They conversed of things I had never heard of; of nations and
times past ; of countries far away ; of secrets of nature discovered
or guessed at : they spoke of books : how many they had read !
What stores of knowledge they possessed ! Then they seemed
so familiar with French names and French authors: but my
amazement reached its climax when Miss Temple asked Helen
if she sometimes snatched a moment to recall the Latin her
father had taught her, and, taking- a book from a shelf, bade her
read and construe a page of Virgil ; and Helen obeyed, my organ
of Veneration expanding at every sounding line. She had
scarcely finished ere the bell announced bedtime ; no delay could
be admitted; Miss Temple embraced us both, saying, as she
drew us to her heart:

" God bless you, my children 1"

Helen she held a little longer than me : she let her go more
reluctantly. It was Helen her eye followed to the door; it was
for her she a second time breathed a sad sigh ; for her she wiped
a tear from her cheek.

On reaching the bedroom we heard the voice of Miss Scat-
cherd: she was examining drawers; she had just pulled out
Helen Burns's, and when we entered Helen was greeted with a
sharp reprimand, and told that to-morrow she should have half a
dozen of untidily folded articles pinned to her shoulder.

"My things were indeed in shameful disorder," murmured
Helen to me, in a low voice. "I intended to have arranged
them, but I forgot."

Next morning Miss Scatcherd wrote in conspicuous characters
on a piece of pasteboard the word " Slattern," and bound it like
a phylactery round Helen's large, mild, intelligent, and benign-
looking forehead. She wore it till evening, patient, unresentful,
regarding it as a deserved punishment. The moment Miss
Scatcherd withdrew, after afternoon school, I ran to Helen, tore
it off, and thrust it into the fire. The fury of which she was
incapable had been burning in my soul all day, and tears, hot
and large, had continually been scalding my cheek ; for the
spectacle of her sad resignation gave me an intolerable pain at
the heart.

About a week subsequently to the incidents above narrated
Miss Temple, who had written to Mr. Lloyd, received his answer:
it appeared that what he said went to corroborate my account.
Miss Temple, having assembled the whole school, announced
that inquiry had been made into the charges alleged against
Jane Eyre, and that she was most happy to be able to pronounce
ner completely cleared from every imputation. The teachers

64 JANE EYRE.

then shook hands with me and kissed me, and a murmur of
pleasure ran through the ranks of my companions.

Thus relieved of a grievous load, I from that hour set to work
afresh, resolved to pioneer my way through every difficulty. I
toiled hard, and my success was proportionate to my efforts ; my
memory, not naturally tenacious, improved with practice ; exer-
cise sharpened my wits. In a few weeks I was promoted to a
higher class ; in less than two months I was allowed to com-
mence French and drawing. I learned the first two tenses of the
verb Eire, and sketched my first cottage (whose walls, by the
way, outrivalled in slope those of the .leaning tower of Pisa) on
the same day. That night on going to bed I forgot to prepare in
imagination the Barmecide supper of hot roast potatoes, or white
bread and new milk, with which I was wont to amuse my inward
cravings. I feasted instead on the spectacle of ideal drawings,
which I saw in the dark — all the work of my own hand; freely
pencilled houses and trees, picturesque rocks and ruins, Cuyp-
like groups of cattle, sweet paintings of butterflies hovering over
unblown roses, of birds picking at ripe cherries, of wrens' nests
enclosing pearl-like eggs, wreathed about with young ivy sprays.
I examined, too, in thought, the possibility of my ever being able
to translate currently a certain little French story-book which
Madame Pierrot had that day shown me ; nor was that problem
solved to my satisfaction ere I fell sweetly asleep.

Well has Solomon said, " Better is a dinner of herbs where
love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith."

I would not now have exchanged Lowood with all its privations
for Gateshead and its daily luxuries.

CHAPTER IX.

BUT the privations, or rather the hardships, of Lowood
lessened. Spring drew on — she was indeed already come ;
the frosts of winter had ceased ; its snows were melted, its
cutting winds ameliorated. My wretched feet, flayed and
swollen to lameness by the sharp air of January, began to heal
and subside under the gentler breathings of April ; the nights
and mornings no longer by their Canadian temperature froze the
veiy blood in our veins ; we could now endure the play-hour
passed in the garden ; sometimes on a sunny day it began even
to be pleasant and genial, and a greenness grew over those
brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that
Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter
traces of her steps. Flowers jpeeped out amongst the leaves :
snowdrops, crocuses, purple anriculas, and golden-eyed pansies.
On Thursday afternoon (half-holidays) we now took walks, and
found still sweeter flowers opening by the wayside under the
hedges.

JANE EYRE. 65

I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment which
the horizon only bounded, lay all outside the high and spike-
guarded walls of our garden : this pleasure consisted in prospect
of noble summits girdling a great hill-hollow, rich in verdure and
shadow; in a bright beck, full of dark stonet and sparkling
eddies. How different had this scene looked when I viewed it
laid out beneath the iron sky of winter, stiffened in frost,
shrouded with snow 1— when mists as chill as death wandered to
the impulse of east winds along those purple peaks, and rolled
down "ing" and holm till they blended with the frozen fog of
the beck ! That beck itself was then a torrent, turbid and curb-
less ; it tore asunder the wood, and sent a raving sound through
the air, often thickened with wild rain or whirling sleet : and for
the forest on its banks, that showed only ranks of skeletons.

April advanced to May — a bright serene May it was ; days of
blue sky, placid sunshine, and soft western or southern gales
filled up its duration. And now vegetation matured with vigour ;
Lowood shook loose its tresses ; it became all green, all flowery;
its great elm, ash, and oak skeletons were restored to majestic
life ; woodland plants sprang up profusely in its recesses ;
unnumbered varieties of moss filled its hollows, and it made a
strange ground-sunshine out of the wealth of its wild primrose
plants : I have seen their pale gold gleam in overshadowed spots
like scatterings of the sweetest lustre. All this I enjoyed often
and fully, free, unwatched, and almost alone : for this unwonted
liberty and pleasure there was a cause, to which it now becomes
my task to advert.

Have I not described a pleasant sight for a dwelling, when I
speak of it as bosomed in hill and wood, and rising from the
verge of a stream ? Assuredly, pleasant enough, but whether
healthy or not is another question.

That forest dell, where Lowood lay, was the cradle of fog and
fog-bred pestilence; which, quickening with the quickening
spring, crept into the Orphan Asylum, breathed typhus through
its crowded schoolroom and dormitory, and, ere May arrived,
transformed the seminary into a hospital.

Semi-starvation and neglected colds had predisposed most of
the pupils to receive infection : forty-five out of the eighty girls
lay ill at one time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The
few who continued well were allowed almost unlimited licence ;
because the medical attendant insisted on the necessity of
frequent exercise to keep them in health : and had it been other-
wise, no one had leisure to watch or restrain them. Miss
Temple's whole attention was absorbed by the patients: she
lived in the sick room, never quitting it except to snatch a few
hours' rest at night. The teachers were fully occupied with
packing up and making other necessary preparations for the
departure of those girls who were fortunate enough to have
friends and relations able and willing to remove them from the
seat of contagion. Many, already smitten, went home only to

E

66 JANE EYRE.

die: some died at the school, and were buried quietly and
quickly, the nature of the malady forbidding delay.

While disease had thus become an inhabitant of Lowood, and
death its frequent visitor ; while there was gloom and fear within
its walls ; while its rooms and passages steamed with hospital
smells, the drug and the pastille striving vainly to overcome the
effluvia of mortality, that bright May shone unclouded over the
bold hills and beautiful woodland out of doors. Its garden, too,
glowed with flowers : hollyhocks had sprung up tall as trees,
lillies had opened, tulips and roses were in bloom ; the borders
of the little beds were gay with pink thrift and crimson double-
daisies ; the sweetbriars gave out, morning and evening, their
scent of spice and apples ; and these fragrant treasures were all
useless for most of the inmates of Lowood, except to furnish now
and then a handful of herbs and blossoms to put in a coffin.

But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the
beauties of the scene and season : they let us ramble in the
wood, like gipsies, from morning till night; we did what we
liked, we went where we liked: we lived better too. Mr.
Brocklehurst and his family never came near Lowood now:
household matters were not scrutinised into ; the cross house-
keeper had gone, driven away by the fear of infection ; her suc-
cessor, who had been matron at the Lowton Dispensary, unused
to the ways of her new abode, provided with comparative liberal-
ity. Besides, there were fewer to feed : the sick could eat little ;
our breakfast-basins were better filled ; when there was no time
to prepare a regular dinner, which often happened, she would
give us a large piece of cold pie, or a thick slice of bread and
cheese, and this we carried away with us to the wood, where we
each chose the spot we liked best, and dined sumptuously.

My favourite seat was a smooth and broad stone, rising white
and dry from the very middle of the beck, and only to be got at
by wading through the water ; a feat I accomplished barefoot.
The stone was just broad enough to accommodate, comfortably,
another girl and me, at that time my chosen comrade — one Mary
Ann Wilson ; a shrewd observant personage, whose society I
took pleasure in, partly because s*he was witty and original, and
partly because she had a manner which set me at my ease.
Some years older than I, she knew more of the world, and could
tell me many things I liked to hear ; with her my curiosity found
gratification : to my faults also she gave ample indulgence, never
imposing curb or rein on anything I said. She had a turn for
narrative, I for analysis ; she liked to inform, I to question ; so
we got on swimmingly together, deriving much entertainment, if
not much improvement, from our mutual intercourse.

And where, meantime, was Helen Burns ? Why did I not
spend these sweet days of liberty with her ? Had I forgotten
her ? or was I so worthless as to have grown tired of her pure
society? Surely the Mary Ann Wilson I have mentioned was
inferior to my first acquaintance : she could only tell me amusing

JANE EYRE. 67

stories, and reciprocate any racy and pungent gossip I chose to
indulge in ; while, if I have spoken truth of Helen, she was
qualified to give those who enjoyed the privilege of her converse,
a taste of far higher things.

True, reader; and I knew and felt this: and though I am a
defective being, with many faults and few redeeming points, vet
I never tired of Helen Burns ; nor ever ceased to cherish for her
a sentiment of attachment, as strong, tender, and respectful as
any that ever animated my heart. How could it be otherwise,
when Helen, at all times and under all circumstances, evinced
for me a quiet and. faithful friendship, which ill-humour never
soured, nor irritation ever troubled ? But Helen was ill at pre-
sent ; for some weeks she had been removed from my sight to I
knew not what room upstairs. She was not, I was told, in the
hospital portion of the house with the fever patients ; for her
complaint was consumption, not typhus: and by consumption
I, in my ignorance, understood something mild, which time and
care would be sure to alleviate.

I was confirmed in this idea by the fact of her once or twice
coming downstairs on very warm sunny afternoons, and being
taken by Miss Temple into the garden : but on these occasions,
I was not allowed to go and speak to her ; I only saw her from
the schoolroom window, and then not distinctly ; for she was
much wrapped up, and sat a distance under the verandah.

One evening, in the beginning of June, I had staid out very
late with Mary Ann in the wood ; we had, as usual, separated
ourselves from the others, and had wandered far: so far that
we lost our way, and had to ask it at a lonely cottage, where a
man and woman lived, who looked after a herd of half-wild
swine that fed on the mast in the wood. When we got back, it
was after moon-rise : a pony which we knew to be the surgeon's,
was standing at the garden door. Mary Ann remarked that she
supposed some one must be very ill, as Mr. Bates had been sent
for at that time of the evening. She went into the house, I stayed
behind a few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots
I had dug up in the forest, and which I feared would wither if I
left them till the morning. This done, I lingered yet a little
longer : the flowers smelt so sweet as the dew fell ; it was such a
pleasant evening, so serene, so warm; the still glowing west
promised so fairly another fine day on the morrow ; the moon
rose with such majesty in the grave east. I was noting these
things and enjoying them as a child might, when it entered my
mind as it had never done before :

" How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger
of dying! This world is pleasant — it would be dreary to be
called from it, and to have to go who knows where ?"

And then my mind made its first earnest effort to comprehend
what had been infused into it concerning heaven and hell : and
for the first time it recoiled, baffled ; and for the first time glan-
cing behind, on each side, and before it, it saw all round an

68 JANE EYRE.

unfathomed gulf: it felt the one point where it stood — the pre-
sent ; all the rest was formless cloud and vacant depth ; and it
shuddered at the thought of tottering, and plunging amid that
chaos. While pondering this new idea, I heard the front door
open ; Mr. Bates came out, and with him was a nurse. After
she had seen him mount his horse and depart, she was about to
close the door, but I ran up to her.

" How is Helen Bums ?"

" Very poorly," was the answer.

" Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see ?'

"Yes."

" And what does he say about her ?"

" He says she'll not be here long."

This phrase, uttered in my hearing yesterday, would have
only conveyed the notion that she was about to be removed to
Northumberland, to her own home. I should not have suspected
that it meant she was dying; but I knew instantly now: it
opened clear my comprehension that Helen Burns was number-
ing her last days in this world, and that she was going to be
taken to the region of spirits, if such region there were. I
experienced a shock of horror, then a strong thrill of grief, then
a desire — a necessity to see her; and I asked in what room she
lay.

" She is in Miss Temple's room," said the nurse.

" May I go up and speak to her ?"

" Oh no, child ! It is not likely ; and now it is time for you to
come in ; you'll catch the fever if you stop out when the dew is
falling."

The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the side en-
trance which led to the schoolroom : I was just in time ; it
was nine o'clock, and Miss Miller was calling the pupils to go
to bed.

It might be two hours later, probably near eleven, when I —
not having been able to fall asleep, and deeming, from the per-
fect silence of the dormitory, that my companions were all
wrapt in profound repose — rose softly, put on my frock over my
night-dress, and, without shoes, crept from the apartment, and
set off in quest of Miss Temple's room. It was quite at the
other end of the house : but I knew my way ; and the light of
the unclouded summer moon, entering here and there at passage
windows, enabled me to find it without difficulty. An odour of
camphor and burnt vinegar warned me when I came near the
fever-room : and I passed its door quickly, fearful lest the nurse
who sat up all night should hear me. I dreaded being dis-
covered and sent back ; for I must see Helen, — I must embrace
her before she died, — I must give her one last kiss, exchange
with her one last word.

Having descended a staircase, traversed a portion of the house
below, and succeeded in opening and shutting, without noise,
two doors, I reached another flight of steps ; these I mounted,

JANE EYRE. 69

and then just opposite to me was Miss Temple's room. A light
shone through the key-hole, and from under the door; a pro-
found stillness pervaded the vicinity. Coming near, I found the
door slightly ajar; probably to admit some fresh air into the
close abode of sickness. Indisposed to hesitate, and full of
impatient impulses — soul and senses quivering with keen throes
— I put it back and looked in. My eye sought Helen, and feared
to find death.

Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with its white
curtains, there stood a little crib. I saw the outline of a form
under the clothes, but the face was hid by the hangings : the
nurse I had spoken to in the garden sat in an easy chair, asleep;
an unsnuffed candle burnt dimly on the table. Miss Temple
was not to be seen ; I knew afterwards that she had been called
to a delirious patient in the fever-room. I advanced, then paused
by the crib siae : my hand was on the curtain, but I preferred
speaking before I withdrew it. I still recoiled at the dread of
seeing a corpse.

" Helen 1" I whispered softly ; " are you awake ?"

She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face,
pale, wasted, but quite composed : she looked so little changed
that my fear was instantly dissipated.

" Can it be you, Jane ? ' she asked, in her own gentle voice.

" Oh !" I thought, "she is not going to die, they are mistaken :
she could not speak and look so calmly if she were."

I got on to her crib and kissed her : her forehead was cold,
and her cheek both cold and thin, and so were her hand and
wrist ; but she smiled as of old.

" Why are you come here, Jane ? It is past eleven o'clock : I
heard it strike some minutes since."

" I came to see you, Helen : I heard you were very ill, and I
could not sleep till I had spoken to you. '

"You came to bid me good-bye then: you are just in time
probably."

" Are you going somewhere, Helen ? Are you going home ?"

" Yes ; to my long home— my last home."

" No, no, Helen I" I stopped, distressed. While I tried to
devour my tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen ; it did not, how-
ever, wake the nurse ; when it was over, she lay some minutes
exhausted ; then she whispered :

" Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover yourself
with my quilt."

I did so; she put her arm over me, and I nestled close to her.
After a long silence, she resumed, still whispering :

II I am very happy, Jane : and when you hear that I am dead,
you must be sure and not grieve ; there is nothing to grieve
about. We all must die one day, and the illness which is
removing me is not painful ; it is gentle and gradual : my mind
is at rest. I leave no one to regret me much: I have only a
father ; and he is lately married, and will not miss me. By dying

70 JANE EYRE.

young, I shall escape great sufferings. I had not qualities or
talents to make my way very well in the world : I should have
been continually at fault."

"But where are you going to, Helen? Can you see? Do
you know ?"

" I believe ; I have faith : I am going to God."

" Where is God ? What is God ?"

"My Maker and yours, who will never destroy what He
created. I rely implicitly on His power, and confide wholly in
His goodness : I count the hours till that eventful one arrives
which shall restore me to Him, reveal Him to me."

"You are sure, then, Helen, that there is such a place as
heaven ; and that our souls can get to it when we die ?"

"I am sure there is a future state; I believe God is good;
I can resign my immortal part to Him without any misgiving.
God is my father ; God is my friend : I love Him ; I believe He
loves me."

" And shall I see you again, Helen, when I die ?"

"You will come to the same region of happiness: be re-
ceived by the same mighty universal Parent, no doubt, dear
Jane."

Again I questioned ; but this time only in thought. "Where
is that region ? Does it exist ?" And I clasped my arms closer
round Helen ; she seemed dearer to me than ever ; I felt as if I
could not let her go ; I lay with my face hidden on her neck.
Presently she said in the sweetest tone :

" How comfortable I am ! That last fit of coughing has tired
me a little ; I feel as if I could sleep : but don't leave me, Jane ;
I like to have you near me."

"I'll stay with you, dear Helen: no one shall take me
away."

" Are you warm, darling ?"

"Yes."

"Good-night, Jane."

"Good-night, Helen."

She kissed me and I her ; and we both soon slumbered.

When I awoke it was day ; an unusual movement roused me ;
I looked up ; I was in somebody's arms ; the nurse held me ; she
was carrying me through the passage back to the dormitory. I
was not reprimanded for leaving my bed ; people had something
else to think about ; no explanation was afforded then to my
many questions ; but a day or two afterwards I learned that Miss
Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me
laid in a little crib; my face against Helen Burn's shoulder, my
arms round her neck. I was asleep, and Helen was — dead.

Her grave is in Brocklebridge Churchyard : for fifteen years
after her death it was only covered by a grassy mound ; but now
a grey marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name,
and the word " Resurgam."

JANE EYRE. 71

CHAPTER X.

HITHERTO I have recorded in detail the events of my
insignificant existence : to the first ten years of my life I
have given almost as many chapters. But this is not be a
regular autobiography: I am only bound to invoke memory
where I know her responses will possess some degree of interest ;
therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost in silence : a
few lines only are necessary to keep up the links of connection.

When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation
at Lowood, it gradually disappeared from thence ; but not till its
virulence and the number of its victims had drawn public atten-
tion on the school. Inquiry was made into the origin of the
scourge, and by degrees various facts came out which excited
public indignation in a high degree. The unhealthy nature of
the site; the quantity and quality of the children's food; the
brackish, fetid water used in its preparation; the pupils'
wretched clothing and accommodations— all these things were
discovered; and the discovery produced a result mortifying to
Mr. Brocklehurst, but beneficial to the institution.

Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the county sub-
scribed largely for the erection of a more convenient building in
a better situation; new regulations were made; improvements
in diet and clothing introduced; the funds of the school were
entrusted to the management of a committee. Mr. Brocklehurst,
who, from his wealth and family connections, could not be over-
looked, still retained the post of treasurer ; but he was aided in
the discharge of his duties by gentlemen of rather more enlarged
and sympathising minds ; his office of inspector, too, was shared
by those who knew how to combine reason with strictness, com-
fort with economy, compassion with uprightness. The school,
thus improved, became in time a truly useful and noble institu-
tion. I remained an inmate of its walls, after its regeneration,
for eight years — six as pupil, and two as teacher; and in both
capacities I bear my testimony to its value and importance.

During these eight years my life was uniform, but not unhappy,
because it was not inactive. I had the means of an excellent
education placed within my reach ; a fondness for some of my
studies, and a desire to excel in all, together with a great delight
in pleasing my teachers, especially such as I loved urged me on.
I availed myself fully of the advantages offered me. In time I
rose to be the first girl of the first class ; then I was invested
with the office of teacher ; which I discharged with zeal for two
years ; but at the end of that time I altered.

Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far continued
superintendent of the seminary: to her instruction I owed the
best part of my acquirements; her friendship and society had
been my continual solace; she had stood me in the stead of
mother, governess, and latterly, companion. At this period she

72 JANE EYRE.

married, removed with her husband (a clergyman, an excellent
man, almosty worthy of such a wife) to a distant county, and
consequently was lost to me.

From the day she left I was no longer the same : with her was
gone every settled feeling, every association that had made
Lowood in some degree a home to me. I had imbibed from her
something of her nature and much of her habits ; more har-
monious thoughts; what seemed better regulated feelings had
become the inmates of my mind. I had given in allegiance to
duty and order ; I was quiet ; I believed I was content : to the
eyes of others, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined
and subdued character.

But destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came
between me and Miss Temple : I saw her in her travelling dress
step into a post-chaise, shortly after the marriage ceremony. I
watched the chaise mount the hill and disappear beyond its
brow; and then retired to my own room, and there spent in
solitude the greatest part of the half-holiday granted in honour
of the occasion.

I walked about the chamber most of the time, I imagined
myself only to be regretting my loss, and thinking how to repair
it ; but when my reflections were concluded, and I looked up and
found that the afternoon was gone, and evening far advanced,
another discoveiy dawned on me — namely, that in the interval I
had undergone a transforming process ; that my mind had put
off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple — or rather, that she had
taken with her the serene atmosphere I had been breathing in
her vicinity — and that now I was left in my natural element, and
beginning to feel the stirring of old emotions. It did not seem
as if a prop were withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone :
it was not the power to be tranquil which had failed me, but the
reason for tranquillity was no more. My world had for some
years been in Lowood : my experience had been of its rules and
systems ; now I remembered that the real world was wide, and
that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excite-
ments, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its
expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils.

I went to my window, opened it, and looked out. There were
the two wings of the building ; there was the garden : there were
the skirts of Lowood; there was the hilly horizon. My eye
passed all other objects to rest on those most remote, the blue
peaks. It was those I longed to surmount; all within their
boundary of rock and heath seemed prison-ground, exile limits.
I traced the white road winding round the base of one mountain
and vanishing in a gorge between two. How I longed to follow
it further ! I recalled the time when I had travelled that very
road in a coach ; I remembered descending that hill at twilight.
An age seemed to have elapsed since the day which brought me
first to Lowood, and I had never quitted it since. My vacations
had all been spent at school. Mrs. Reed had never sent for me

JANE EYRE. 73

to Gateshead ; neither she nor any one of her family had ever been
to visit me. I had had no communication by letter or message
with the outer world. School-rules, school-duties, school-habits
and notions, and voices, and faces, and phrases, and costumes,
and preferences, and antipathies: such was what I knew of
existence. And now I felt that it was not enough. I tired of the
routine of eight years in one afternoon. I desired liberty ; for
liberty I gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed
scattered on the wind then faintly blowing. I abandoned it and
framed a humbler supplication. For change, stimulus. That
petition, too, seemed swept off into vague space. "Then," I
cried, half desperate, " grant me at least a new servitude 1"

Here a bell, ringing the hour of supper, called me downstairs.

I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my reflections
till bedtime ; even then a teacher who occupied the same room
with me kept me from the subject to which I longed to recur, by
a prolonged effusion of small talk. How I wished sleep would
silence her I It seemed as if, could I go back to the idea which
had last entered my mind as I stood at the window, some
inventive suggestion would rise for my relief.

Miss Gryce snored at last. She was a heavy Welshwoman,
and till now her habitual nasal strains had never been regarded
by me in any other light than as a nuisance. To-night I hailed
the first deep notes with satisfaction. I was debarrassed of
interruption ; my half-effaced thought instantly revived.

" A new servitude ! There is something in that," I soliloquised
(mentally, be it understood; I did not talk aloud). "I know
there is, because it does not sound too sweet. It is not like such
words as Liberty, Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds
truly, but no more than sounds for me, and so hollow and fleet-
ing that it is mere waste of time to listen to them. But Servi-
tude ! That must be matter of fact. Any one may serve. I
have served here eight years ; now all I want is to serve else-
where. Can I not get so much of my own will? Is not the
thing feasible ? Yes— yes— the end is not so difficult, if I had
only a brain active enough to ferret out the means of attaining it.

I sat up in bed by way of arousing this said brain. It was a
chilly night ; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I
proceeded to think again with all my might.

"What do I want? A new place, in a new house, amongst
new faces, under new circumstances. I want this because it is
of no use wanting anything better. How do people do to get a
new place ? They apply to friends, I suppose. I have no friends.
There are many others who have no friends, who must look about
for themselves and be their own helpers; and what is their
resource?"

I could not tell: nothing answered me. I then ordered my
brain to find a response, and quickly. It worked and worked
faster. I felt the pulses throb in my head and temples ; but for
nearly an hour it worked in chaos, and no result came of its

74 JANE EYRE.

efforts. Feverish with vain labour, I got up and took a turn in
the room, undrew the curtain, noted a star or two, shivered with
cold, and again crept to bed.

A kind fairy, in my absence, had surely dropped the required
suggestion on my pillow, for as I lay down it came quietly and
naturally to my mind: "Those who want situations advertise;
you must advertise in the shire Herald."

" How ? I know nothing about advertising."

Replies rose smooth and prompt now :

"You must enclose the advertisement and the money to pay
for it under a cover directed to the Editor of the Herald. You
must put it, the first opportunity you have, into the post at
Lowton. Answers must be addressed to J. E. at the post-office
there. You can go and inquire, in about a week after you send
your letter, if any are come, and act accordingly."

This scheme I went over twice, thrice ; it was then digested in
my mind : I had it in a clear practical form ; I felt satisfied, and
fell asleep.

With earliest day, I was up : I had my advertisement written,
enclosed, and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school ;
it ran thus : —

"A young lady accustomed to tuition" (had I not been a
teacher two years?) "is desirous of meeting with a situation
in a private family where the children are under fourteen (I
thought that as I was barely eighteen, it would not do to under-
take the guidance of pupils nearer my own age). She is qualified
to teach the usual branches of a good English education, together
with French, Drawing, and Music" (in those days, reader, this
now narrow catalogue of accomplishments would have been held
tolerably comprehensive). "Address J. E., Post-office, Lowton,
shire."

This document remained locked in my drawer all day : after
tea, I asked leave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, in
order to perform some small commissions for myself and one or
two of my fellow-teachers; permission was readily granted; I
went. It was a walk of two miles, and the evening was wet, but
the days were still long; I visited a shop or two, slipped the
letter into the post-office, and came back through heavy rain,
with streaming garments, but with a relieved heart.

The succeeding week seemed long : it came to an end at last,
however, like all sublunary things, and once more towards the
close of a pleasant autumn day, I found myself afoot on the road
to Lowton. A picturesque track it was, by the way ; lying along
the side of the beck and through the sweetest curves of the dale ;
but that day I thought more of the letters, that might or might
not be awaiting me at the little burgh whither I was bound, than
of the charms of lea and water.

My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for
a pair of shoes ; so I discharged that business first, and when it
was done, I stepped across the clean and quiet little street from

JANE EYRE. 75

the shoemaker's to the post-office : it was kept by an old dame,
who wore horn spectacles on her nose, and black mittens on her
hands.

"Are there any letters for J. E. ?" I asked.

She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a
drawer and fumbled among its contents for a long time, so long
that my hopes began to falter. At last, having held a document
before her glasses for nearly five minutes, she presented it across
the counter, accompanying the act by another inquisitive and
mistrustful glance — it was for J. E.

'* Is there only one ?" I demanded.

" There are no more," said she ; and I put it in my pocket and
turned my face homeward : I could not open it then ; rules
obliged me to be back by eight, and it was already half-past
seven.

Various duties awaited me on my arrival. I had to sit with
the girls during their hour of study; then it was my turn to read
prayers ; to see them to bed : afterwards I supped with the other
teachers. Even when we finally retired for the night, the inevit-
able Miss Grvce was still my companion ; we had only a short
end of candle in our candlestick, and I dreaded lest she should
talk till it was all burnt out; fortunately, however, the heavy
supper she had eaten produced a soporific effect 1 she was
already snoring before I had finished undressing. There still
remained an inch of candle : I now took out my letter ; the seal
was an initial F. ; I broke it ; the contents were brief.

" If J. E., who advertised in the shire Herald of last

Thursday, possesses the acquirements mentioned ; and if she is
in a position to give satisfactory references as to character and
competency ; a situation can be offered her where there is but
one pupil, a little girl, under ten years of age ; and where the
salary is thirty pounds per annum. J. E. is requested to send
references, name, address, and all particulars to the direction :

11 Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, shire.

I examined the document long : the writing was old-fashioned
and rather uncertain, like that of an elderly lady. This circum-
stance was satisfactory : a private fear had haunted me, that in
thus acting for myself, and by my own guidance, I ran the risk
of getting into some scrape ; and, above all things, I wished
the result of my endeavours to be respectable, proper en regie.
I now felt that an elderly lady was no bad ingredient in the
business I had on hand. Mrs. Fairfax 1 I saw her in a black
gown and widow's cap ; frigid perhaps, but not uncivil : a model
of elderly English respectability. Thornfield 1 that, doubtless,
was the name of her house : a neat, orderly spot, I was sure ;
though I failed in my efforts to conceive a correct plan of the

premises. Millcote, shire; I brushed up my recollections

of the map of England ; yes, I saw it ; both the shire and the

town. shire was seventy miles nearer London than the

remote county where I now resided : that was a recommendation

76 JANE EYRE.

to me. I longed to go where there was life and movement:
Millcote was a large manufacturing town on the banks of the

A ; a busy place enough, doubtless : so much the better; it

would be a complete change at least. Not that my fancy was
much captivated by the idea of long chimneys and clouds of
smoke — "but," I argued, " Thornfield will, probably, be a good
way from the town."

Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the wick went out.

Next day new steps were to be taken: my plans could no
longer be confined to my own breast; I must impart them in
order to achieve their success. Having sought and obtained an
audience of the superintendent, during the noontide recreation,
I told her I had a prospect of getting a new situation where the
salary would be double what I now received (for at Lowood I
only got ^15 per annum ;) and requested she would break the
matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst, or some of the committee, and
ascertain whether they would permit me to mention them as
references. She obligingly consented to act as mediatrix in the
matter. The next day she laid the affair before Mr. Brockle-
hurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must be written to, as she was
my natural guardian. A note was accordingly addressed to
that lady, who returned for answer, that " I might do as I
pleased: she had long relinquished all interference in my
affairs." This note went the round of the committee, and at
last, after what appeared to me most tedious delay, formal
leave was given me to better my condition if I could ; and an
assurance added, that as I had always conducted myself well,
both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of character
and capacity, signed by the inspectors of that institution, should
forthwith be furnished me.

This testimonial I accordingly received in about a month, for-
warded a copy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply,
stating that she was satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as
the period for my assuming the post of governess in her house.

I now busied myself in preparations : the fortnight passed
rapidly. I had not a very large wardrobe, though it was ade-
quate to my wants ; and the last day sufficed to pack my trunk —
the same I had brought with me eight years ago from Gates-
head.

The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half an hour the
carrier was to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself
was to repair at an early hour the next morning to meet the
coach. I had brushed my black stuff travelling dress, prepared
my bonnet, gloves, and muff; sought in all my drawers to see
that no article was left behind ; and now, having nothing more
to do, I sat down and tried to rest. I could not ; though I had
been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant ; I was
too much excited. A phase of my life was closing to-night, a
new one opening to-morrow: impossible to slumber in the

JANE EYRE. 77

interval ; 1 must watch feverishly while the change was being
accomplished.

" Miss," said a servant who met me in the lobby, where I was
wandering like a troubled spirit, " a person below wishes to see
you."

" The carrier, no doubt," I thought, and ran down stairs with-
out inquiry. I was passing the back parlour, or teachers'
sitting-room, the door of which was half open, to go to the
kitchen, when some one ran out :

"It's her, I am sure I— I could have told her anywhere!"
cried the individual who stopped my progress and took my hand.

I looked : I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant,
matronly, yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair
and eyes, and lively complexion.

"Well, who is it?" she asked in a voice and with a smile I
half recognised : "you've not quite forgotten me I think, Miss
Jane ?"

In another second I was embracing and kissing her raptur-
ously: "Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!" that was all I said;
whereat she half laughed, half cried, and we both went into the
parlour. By the fire stood a little fellow of three years old, in
plaid frock and trousers.

"That is my little boy," said Bessie, directly.

"Then you are married, Bessie?"

"Yes: nearly five years since, to Robert Leaven, the coach-
man; and I've a little girl besides Bobby there, that I've
christened Jane."

" And you don't live at Gateshead ?"

" I live at the lodge : the old porter has left."

"Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything
about them, Bessie : but sit down first ; and, Bobby, come ana
sit on my knee, will you ?" but Bobby preferred sideling over to
his mother.

" You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout,"
continued Mrs. Leaven. "I dare say they've not kept you too
well at school : Miss Reed is the head and shoulders taller than
you are; and Miss Georgiana would make two of you in
breadth."

"Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?"

" Very. She went up to London last winter with her mamma,
and there everybody admired her, and a young lord fell in love
with her : but his relations were against the match ; and — what
do you think ? — he and Miss Georgiana made it up to run away :
but they were found out and stopped. It was Miss Reed that
found them out : I believe she was envious ; and now she and
her sister lead a cat-and-dog life together; they are always
quarrelling."

" Well, and what of John Reed ?"

" Oh, he is not doing so well as his mamma could wish. He
went to college, and he got — plucked, I think they call it. And

78 JANE EYRE.

then his uncles wanted him to be a barrister, and study the law :
but he is such a dissipated young man, they will never make
much of him, I think."

" What does he look like ?"

" He is very tall. Some people call him a fine looking young
man ; but he has such thick lips."

"And Mrs, Reed?"

" Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I think
she's not quite easy in her mind. Mr. John's conduct does not
please her — he spends a deal of money."

" Did she send you here, Bessie ?"

" No, indeed ; but I have long wanted to see you, and when I
heard that there had been a letter from you, and that you were
going to another part of the country, I thought I'd just set off,
and get a look at you before you were quite out off my reach."

"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie?" I said
this laughing. I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it
expressed regard, did in no shape denote admiration.

" No, Miss Jane, not exactly. You are genteel enough : you
look like a lady, and it is as much as I ever expected of you :
you were no beauty as a child."

I smiled at Bessie's frank answer; I felt that it was correct,
but I confess I was not quite indifferent to its import. At eigh-
teen most people wish to please, and the conviction that they
have not an exterior likely to second that desire brings anything
but gratification.

"I dare say you are clever though," continued Bessie, by way
of solace. " What can you do ? Can you play on the piano ?"

"A little." y F y

There was one in the room ; Bessie went and opened it, and
then asked me to sit down and to give her a tune. I played a
waltz or two, and she was charmed.

"The Miss Reeds could not play as well !" said she exultingly.
"I always said you would surpass them in learning: and can
you draw?"

"That is one of my paintings over the chimney-piece." It
was a landscape in water colours, of which I had made a present
to the superintendent, in acknowledgment of her obliging media-
tion with the committee on my behalf, and which she had framed
and glazed.

" Weil, that is beautiful, Miss Jane ! It is as fine a picture as
any Miss Reed's drawing-master could paint, let alone the young
ladies themselves, who could not come near it : and have you
learnt French ?"

"Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it."

" And you can work on muslin and canvass ?"

"lean."

" Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane ! I knew you would be ;
you will get on whether your relations notice you or not. There

JANE EYRE. 79

was something I wanted to ask you. Have vou ever heard any-
thing from your father's kinsfolk, the Eyres?"

" Never in my life."

" Well, you know Missis always said they were poor and quite
despicable : and they may be poor ; but I believe they are as
much gentry as the Reeds are ; for one day, nearly seven years
ago, a Mr. Eyre came to Gateshead and wanted to see you.
Missis said you was at school fifty miles off: he seemed so much
disappointed, for he could not stay; he was going on a voyage
to a foreign country, and the ship was to sail from London in a
day or two. He looked quite a gentleman, and I believe he was
your father's brother."

" What foreign country was he going to, Bessie ?"

" An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine— the
butler did tell me "

" Madeira?" I suggested.

" Yes ; that is it— that is the very word."

" So he went ?"

"Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis
was very high with him ; she called him afterwards a ' sneaking
tradesman.' My Robert believes he was a wine merchant."

" Very likely," I returned; "or perhaps clerk or agent to a
wine merchant."

Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and
then she was obliged to leave me : I saw her again for a few
minutes the next morning at Lowton, while I was waiting for the
coach. We parted finally at the door of the Brocklehurst Arms
there : each went her separate way : she set off for the brow of
Lowood Fell to meet the conveyance which was to take her back
to Gateshead ; I mounted the vehicle which was to bear me to
new duties and a new life in the unknown environs of Millcote.

CHAPTER XI.

ANEW chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in
a play ; and when I draw up the curtain this time, reader,
you must fancy you see a room in the George Inn at Millcote,
with such large-figured papering on the walls as inn rooms
have; such a carpet, such furniture, such ornaments on the
mantelpiece, such prints, including a portrait of George the
Third, and another of the Prince of Wales, and a representation
of the death of Wolfe. All this is visible to you by the light
of an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and by that of an
excellent fire, near which I sit in my cloak and bonnet; my
muff and umbrella lie on the table, and I am warming away the
numbness and chill contracted by sixteen hours' exposure to the

80 JANE EYRE.

rawness of an October day : I left Lowton at four o'clock A.M.,
and the Millcote town clock is now just striking eight.

Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not
very tranquil in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped
here there would be some one to meet me ; I looked anxiously
round as I descended the wooden steps the "boots " placed for
my convenience, expecting to hear my name pronounced, and to
see some description of carrage waiting to convey me to Thorn-
field. Nothing of the sort was visible ; and when I asked a
waiter if any one had been to inquire after a Miss Eyre, I was
answered in the negative : so I had no resource but to request to
be shown into a private room : and here I am waiting, while all
sorts of doubts and fears are troubling my thoughts.

It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel
itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection,
uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached,
and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has
quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the
glow of pride warms it ; but then the throb of fear disturbs it ;
and fear with me became predominant, when half an hour
elapsed and still I was alone. I bethought myself to ring the
bell.

" Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield ?" I
asked of the waiter who answered the summons.

" Thornfield ? I don't know, ma'am ; I'll inquire at the bar."
He vanished, but reappeared instantly :

" Is your name Eyre, Miss ?"

"Yes."

" Person here waiting for you."
• I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened into
the inn passage : a man was standing by the open door, and in
the lamp-lit street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.

"This will be your luggage, I suppose?" said the man rather
abruptly when he saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage.

"Yes.'/

He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car,
and then I got in : before he shut me up, I asked him how far it
was to Thornfield.

"A matter of six miles."

" How long shall we be before we get there ?"

" Happen an hour and a half."

He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat outside, and
we set off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time
to reflect : I was content to be at length so near the end of my
journey; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not
elegant conveyance, I meditated much at my ease.

"I suppose," thought I, "judging from the plainness of the
servant and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person :
so much the better ; I never lived amongst fine people but once,
and I was very miserable with them. I wonder if she lives alone

JANE EYRE. 8l

except this little girl : if so, and if she is in any degree amiable,
I shall surely be able to get on with her ; I will do my best ; it is
a pity that doing one's best does not always answer. At Lowood
indeed, I took that resolution, kept it, and succeeded in pleas-
ing; but with Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was always
spurned with scorn. I pray God Mrs. Fairfax may not turn out
a second Mrs. Reed ; but if she does, I am not bound to stay
with her : let the worst come to the worst I can advertise again.
How far are we on our road now, I wonder?"

I let down the window and looked out : Millcote was behind
us ; judging by the number of its lights, it seemed a place of
considerable magnitude, much larger than Lowton. We were
now, as far as I could see, on a sort of common ; but there were
houses scattered all over the district ; I felt we were in a different
region to Lowood, more populous, less picturesque ; more
stirring, less romantic.

The roads were heavy, the night misty : my conductor let his
horse walk all the way, and the hour and a half extended, I
verily believe, to two hours ; at last he turned in his seat and
said:

" You're noan so far fro' Thornfield now."

Again I looked out ; we were passing a church : I saw Its low
broad tower against the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter, I
saw a narrow galaxy of lights too, on a hill-side, marking a
village or hamlet. About ten minutes after, the driver got 'down
and opened a pair of gates, we passed through, and they clashed
to behind us. We now slowly ascended a drive, and came upon
the long front of a house : candle-light gleamed from one cur-
tained bow- window ; all the rest were dark. The car stopped at
the front door; it was opened by a maidservant ; I alighted and
went in.

"Will you walk this way, ma'am," said the girl; and I
followed her across a square hall with high doors all round ; she
ushered me into a room whose double illumination of fire and
candle at first dazzled me, contrasting as it did with the dark-
ness to which ray eyes had been for two hours inured ; when I
could see, however, a cosy and agreeable picture presented itself
to my view.

A snug, small room ; a round table by a cheerful fire : an arm-
chair, high-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest
imaginable little elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown
and snowy muslin apron ; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs.
Fairfax, only less stately and milder looking. She was occupied
in knitting ; a large cat sat demurely at her feet ; nothing in
short was wanting to complete the beau-ideal of domestic com-
fort. A more reassuring introduction for a new governess could
scarcely be conceived ; there was no grandeur to overwhelm, no
stateliness to embarrass ; and then, as I entered, the old lady
got up and promptly and kindly came forward to meet me.

14 How do you do, my dear ? I am afraid you have had a

F

82 JANE EYRE.

tedious ride ; John drives so slowly ; you must be cold, come to
the fire."

"Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?" said I.

"Yes, you are right: do sit down."

She conducted me to her own chair, and then began to remove
my shawl and untie my bonnet-strings : I begged she would not
give herself so much trouble.

" Oh, it is no trouble; I dare say your own hands are almost
numbed with cold. Leah, make a little hot negus and cut a
sandwich or two : here are the keys of the storeroom."

And she produced from her pocket a most housewifely bunch
of keys, and delivered them to the servant.

"Now, then, draw nearer to the fire;" she continued.
"You've brought your luggage with you, haven't you, my
dear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll see it carried into your room," she said, and bustled
out.

"She treats me like a visitor," thought I. "I little expected
such a reception ; I anticipated only coldness, and stiffness :
this is not like what I have heard of the treatment of governesses,
but I must not exult too soon."

She returned, with her own hands cleared her knitting appara-
tus and a book or two from the table, to make room for the tray
which Leah now brought, and then herself handed me the
refreshments. I felt rather confused at being the object of more
attention than I had ever before received, and that, too, shown
by my employer and superior ; but as she did not herself seem to
consider she was doing anything out of her place, I thought it
better to take her civilities quietly.

" Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax to-night ?" I
asked, when I had partaken of what she offered me.

"What did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf," returned
the good lady, approaching her ear to my mouth.

I repeated the question more distinctly.

" Miss Fairfax ? Oh, you mean Miss Varens ! Varens is the
name of your future pupil."

" Indeed ! Then she is not your daughter ?"

" No — I have no family."

I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking in what
way Miss Varens was connected with her; but I recollected it
was not polite to ask too many questions : besides, I was sure to
hear in time.

"J am so glad," she continued, as she sat down opposite to
me, and took the cat on her knee : " I am so glad you are come,
it will be quite pleasant living here now with a companion. To
be sure it is pleasant at any time ; for Thornfield is a fine old
hall, rather neglected of late years perhaps, but still it is a
respectable place ; yet you know in winter time one feels dreary
quite alone, in the best quarters. I say alone — Leah is a nice

JANE EYRE. 83

girl to be sure, and John and his wife are very decent people ;
but then you see they are only servants, and one can't converse
with them on terms of equality : one must keep them at due dis-
tance, for fear of losing one's authority. I'm sure last winter (it
was a very severe one, if you recollect, and when it did not snow,
it rained and blew,) not a creature but the butcher and post-man
came to the house, from November till February ; and I really
got quite melancholy with sitting night after night alone ; I had
Leah in to read to me sometimes ; but I don't think the poor
girl liked the task much : she felt it confining. In spring and
summer one got on better; sunshine and long days make such a
difference ; and then, just at the commencement of this autumn,
little Adela Varens came and her nurse: a child makes a
house alive all at once ; and now you are here I shall be quite
gay."

My heart really warmed to the worthy lady, as I heard her
talk ; and I drew my chair a little nearer to her, and expressed
my sincere wish that she might find my company as agreeable as
she anticipated.

" But I'll not keep you sitting up late to-night," said she ; " it
is on the stroke of twelve now, and you have been travelling all
day: you must feel tired. If you have got your feet well warmed
I'll show you your bedroom. I've had the room next to mine
prepared for you ; it is only a small apartment, but I thought
you would like it better than one of the large front chambers : to
be sure they have finer furniture, but they are so dreary and
solitary, I never sleep in them myself."

I thanked her for her considerate choice, and as I really felt
fatigued with my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire.
She took her candle, and I followed her from the room.

First she went to see if the hall door was fastened ; having
taken the key from the lock, she led the way upstairs. The steps
and banisters were of oak ; the staircase window was high and
latticed, both it and the long gallery into which the bedroom
doors opened, looked as if they belonged to a church rather than
a house. A very chill and vault-like air pervaded the stairs and
gallery, suggesting cheerless'ideas of space and solitude ; and I
was glad when finally ushered into my chamber, to find it of
small dimensions, ana furnished in ordinary modern style.

When Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind good-night, and I
had fastened my door, gazed leisurely round, and in some mea-
sure effaced the eerie impression made by that wide hall, that
dark and spacious staircase, and that long, cold gallery, by the
livelier aspect of my little room. I remembered that after a day
of bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, I was now at last in safe
haven. The impulse of gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt
down at the bedside, and offered up thanks where thanks were
due: not forgetting, ere I rose, to implore aid on my further
path, and the power of meriting the kindness which seemed so
frankly offered me before it was earned. My couch had no thorns

84 JANE EYRE.

in it that night ; my solitary room no fears. At once weary and
content, I slept soon and soundly : when I awoke it was broad
day.

The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the
sun shone in between the gay blue chintz window curtains, show-
ing papered walls and a carpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks
and stained plaster of Lowood, that my spirits rose at the view.
Externals have a great effect on the young. I thought that a
fairer era of life was beginning for me, one that was to have its
flowers and pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. My
faculties, roused by the change of scene, the new field offered to
hope, seemed all astir. I cannot precisely define what they
expected, but it was something pleasant : not perhaps that day
or that day month, but at an indefinite future period.

I rose : I dressed myself with care : obliged to be plain — for I
had no article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity
— I was still by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit
to be disregardful of appearance, or careless of the impression I
made ; on the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could,
and to please as much as my want of beauty would permit. I
sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer: I sometimes
wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry
mouth ; I desired to be tall, stately, and finely developed in
figure ; I felt it a misfortune that I was so little, so pale, and had
features so irregular and so marked. And why had I these
aspirations and these regrets ? It would be difficult to say : I
could not then distinctly say it to myself; yet I had a reason,
and a logical, natural reason too. However, when I had brushed
my hair very smooth, and put on my black frock — which Quaker-
like as it was, at least had the merit of fitting to a nicety — and
adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought I should do respect-
ably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax; and that my new
pupil would not at least recoil from me with antipathy. Having
opened my chamber window, and seen that I left all things
straight and neat on the toilet table, I ventured forrh.

Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended the
slippery steps of oak ; then I gained the hall : I halted there a
minute : I looked at some pictures on the walls (one I remember
represented a grim man in a cuirass, and one a lady with pow-
dered hair and a pearl necklace), at a bronze lamp pendent from
the ceiling, at a great clock whose case was of oak curiously
carved, and ebon black with time and rubbing. Everything
appeared very stately and imposing to me : but then I was so
little accustomed to grandeur. The hall-door, which was half of
glass, stood open ; I stepped over the threshold. It was a fine
autumn morning ; the early sun shone serenely on embrowned
groves and still green fields ; advancing on to the lawn, I looked
up and surveyed the front of the mansion. It was three stories
high, of proportions not vast, though considerable, a gentleman's
manor-house, not a nobleman's seat: battlements round the top

JANE EYRE. 85

gave it a picturesque look. Its grey front stood out well from
the background of a rookery, whose cawing tenants were now on
the wing. They flew over the lawn and grounds to alight in a
great meadow, from which these were separated by a sunk fence,
and where an array of mighty old thorn trees, strong, knotty,
and broad as oaks, at once explained the etymology of the man-
sion's designation. Farther off were hills : not so lofty as those
round Lowood, nor so craggy, nor so like barriers of separation
from the living world ; but yet quiet and lonely hills enough, and
seeming to embrace Thornfiela with a seclusion I had not ex-
pected to find existent so near the stirring locality of Millcote.
A little hamlet, whose roofs were blent with trees, straggled up
the side of one of these hills ; the church of the district stood
nearer Thomfield: its old tower-top looked over a knoll between
the house and gates.

I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant fresh air,
yet listening with delight to the cawing of the rooks, yet survey-
ing the wide, hoary front of the hall, and thinking what a great
place it was for one lonely little dame like Mrs. Fairfax to
inhabit, when that lady appeared at the door.

"What! out already?" said she. " I see you are an early
riser." I went up to her, and was received with an affable kiss
and shake of the hand.

" How do you like Thomfield ?" she asked. I told her I liked
it very much.

"Yes," she said, "it is a pretty place; but I fear it will be
getting out of order, unless Mr. Rochester should take it into his
head to come and reside here permanently — or, at least, visit it
rather oftener. Great houses and fine grounds require the
presence of the proprietor."

** Mr. Rochester !" I exclaimed. " Who is he ?"

" The owner of Thomfield," she responded quietly. " Did you
not know he was called Rochester?"

Of course I did not ; I had never heard of him before ; but the
old lady seemed to regard his existence as a universally under-
stood fact, with which everybody must be acquainted by instinct.

" I thought," I continued, "Thomfield belonged to you."

"Tome? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me? I am
only the housekeeper — the manager. To be sure, I am distantly
related to the Rochesters by the mother's side — or, at least, my
husband was. He was a clergyman, incumbent of Hay — that
little village yonder on the hill— and that church near the gates
was his. The present Mr. Rochester's mother was a Fairfax,
and second cousin to my husband ; but I never presume on the
connection — in fact, it is nothing to me. I consider myself quite
in the light of an ordinary housekeeper. My employer is always
civil, and I expect nothing more."

" And the little girl— my pupil ?"

" She is Mr. Rochester s ward. He commissioned me to find
a governess for her. He intends to have her brought up in

86 JANE EYRE.

shire, I believe. Here she comes, with her ' bonne,' as she

calls her nurse." The enigma then was explained: this affable
and kind little widow was no great dame, but a dependent like
myself. I did not like her the worse for that ; on the contrary, I
felt better pleased than ever. The equality between her and me
was real : not the mere result of condescension on her part. So
much the better ; my position was all the freer.

As I was meditating on this discovery, a little girl, followed by
her attendant, came running up the lawn. I looked at my pupil,
who did not at first appear to notice me. She was quite a child
— perhaps seven or eight years old — slightly built, with a pale,
small-featured face, and a redundancy of hair falling in curls to
her waist.

"Good-morning, Miss Adela," said Mrs. Fairfax. "Come
and speak to the lady who is to teach you, and to make you a
clever woman some day." She approached.

"C'est la ma gouvernante ?" said she, pointing to me, and
addressing her nurse ; who answered :

"Mais oui, certainement."

"Are they foreigners?" I inquired, amazed at hearing the
French language.

"The nurse is a foreigner, and Adela was born on the Con-
tinent ; and, I believe, never left it till within six months ago.
When she first came here she could speak no English ; now she
can make shift to talk it a little. I don't understand her, she
mixes it so with French ; but you will make out her meaning very
well, I daresay."

Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French
by a French lady ; and as I had always made a point of convers-
ing with Madame Pierrot as often as I could, arid had, besides,
during the last seven years, learnt a portion of French by heart
daily — applying myself to take pains with my accent, and imitat-
ing as closely as possible the pronunciation of my teacher — I had
acquired a certain degree of readiness and correctness in the
language, and was not likely to be much at a loss with
Mademoiselle Adela. She came and shook hands with me when
she heard that I was her governess ; and, as I led her into
breakfast, I addressed some phrases to her in her own tongue.
She replied briefly at first, but after we were seated at the table,
and she had examined me some ten minutes with her large hazel
eyes, she suddenly commenced chattering fluently.

"Ah !" cried she, in French, "you speak my language as well
as Mr. Rochester does. I can talk to you as I can to him, and
so can Sophie. She will be glad ; nobody here understands her ;
Madame Fairfax is all English. Sophie is my nurse ; she came
with me over the sea in a great ship with a chimney that smoked
— how it did smoke ! — and I was sick, and so was Sophie, and so
was Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester lay down on a sofa in a
pretty room called the salon, and Sophie and I had little beds in

JANEEYRE. 87

another place. I neatly fell out of mine ; it was like a shelf.
And, Mademoiselle 1 what is your name?"

" Eyre — Jane Eyre."

'* Aire ? Bah ! I cannot say it. Well : our ship stopped in
the morning, before it was quite daylight, at a great city — a
huge city, with very dark houses and all smoky; not at all like
the pretty clean town \ came from ; and Mr. Rochester carried
me m his arms over a plank to the land, and Sophie came after,
and we all got into a coach, which took us to a beautiful large
house, larger than this and finer, called an hotel. We stayed
there nearly a week : I and Sophie used to walk every day in a
great green place full of trees, called the Park ; and there were
many children there beside me, and a pond with beautiful birds
in it, that I fed with crumbs."

" Can you understand when she runs on so fast?" asked Mrs.
Fairfax.

I understood her very well, for I had been accustomed to the
fluent tongue of Madame Pierrot.

"I wish," continued the good lady, "you would ask her a
question or two about her parents. I wonder if she remembers
them ?"

" Ad61e," I inquired, "with whom did you live when you were
in that pretty clean town you spoke of?"

"I lived long ago with mamma; but she is gone to the Holy
Virgin. Mamma used to teach me to dance and sing, and to
say verses. A great many gentlemen and ladies came to see
mamma, and I used to dance before them, or to sit on their
knees and sing to them : I liked it. Shall I let you hear me sing
now?"

She had finished her breakfast, so I permitted her to give a
specimen of her accomplishments. Descending from her chair,
she came and placed herself on my knee ; then, folding her little
hands demurely before her, shaking back her curls, and lifting
her eyes to the ceiling, she commenced singing a song from
some opera. It was the strain of a forsaken lady, who, after
bewailing the perfidy of her lover, calls pride to her aid ; desires
her attendant to deck her in her brightest jewels and richest
rubes, and resolves to meet the false one that night at a ball, and
prove to him, by the gaiety of her demeanour, how little his
desertion has afiected her.

The subject seemed strangely chosen for an infant singer; but
I suppose the point of the exhibition lay in hearing the notes of
love and jealousy warbled with the lisp of childhood, and in very
bad taste that point was, at least I thought so.

Adele sang the canzonette tunefully enough, and with the
naivete of her age. This achieved, she jumped from my knee
and said, " Now Mademoiselle, I will repeat you some poetry."

Assuming an attitude, she began " La Ligue des Kats, fable
de La Fontaine." She then declaimed the little piece with an
attention to punctuation and emphasis, a flexibility of voice, and

88 JANE EYRE.

an appropriateness of gesture, very unusual indeed at her age,
and which proved she had been carefully trained.

" Was it your mamma who taught you that piece ?" I asked.

" Yes ; and she just used to say it in this way : ' Qu'avez vous
done? lui dit un de ces rats; parlez!' She made me lift my
hand — so— to remind me to raise my voice at the question. Now
shall I dance for you ?"

" No ; that will do. But after your mamma went to the Holy
Virgin, as you say, with whom did you live then ?"

" With Madame Frederic and her husband: she took care of
me, but she is nothing related to me. I think she is poor, for she
had not so fine a house as mamma. I was not long there. Mr.
Rochester asked me if I would like to go and live with him in
England, and I said yes . for I knew Mr. Rochester before I knew
Madame Frederic, and he was always kind to me, and gave me
pretty dresses and toys : but you see he has not kept his word,
for he has brought me to England, and now he is gone back
again himself, and I never see him."

After breakfast, Adele and I withdrew to the library, which
room, it appears, Mr. Rochester had directed should be used as
the schoolroom. Most of the books were locked up behind glass
doors ; but there was one bookcase left open containing every-
thing that could be needed in the way of elementary works, and
several volumes of light literature, poetry, biography, travels, a
few romances, &c. I suppose he had considered that these were
all the governess would require for her private perusal ; and,
indeed, they contented me amply for the present ; compared with
the scanty pickings I had now and then been able to glean at
Lowood, they seemed to offer an abundant harvest of entertain-
ment and information. In this room, too, there was a cabinet
piano, quite new and of superior tone ; also an easel for painting,
and a pair of globes.

I found my pupil sufficiently docile, though disinclined to
apply : she had not been used to regular occupation of any kind.
I felt it would be injudicious to confine her too much at first : so,
when I had talked to her a great deal, and got her to learn a
little, and when the morning had advanced to noon, I allowed
her to return to her nurse. I then proposed to occupy myself till
dinner-time in drawing some little sketches for her use.

As I was going upstairs to fetch my portfolio and pencils, Mrs.
Fairfax called to me : " Your morning school-hours are over now,
I suppose," said she. She was in a room the folding-doors of
which stood open : I went in when she addressed me. It was a
large, stately apartment, with purple chairs and curtains, a
Turkey carpet, walnut-panelled walls, one vast window rich in
stained glass, and a lofty ceiling, nobly moulded. Mrs. Fairfax
was dusting some vases of fine purple spar, which stood on a
sideboard.

"What a beautiful room!" I exclaimed, as I looked round;
for I had never before seen any half so imposing.

JANE EYRE. 89

"Yes; this is the dining-room. I have just opened the
window, to let in a little air and sunshine ; for everything gets
so damp in apartments that are seldom inhabited : the drawing-
room yonder feels like a vault."

She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the window, and
hung like it with a Tyrian-dyed curtain, now looped up. Mounting
to it by two broad steps and looking through, I thought I caught
a glimpse of a fairy place, so bright to my novice-eyes appeared
the view beyond. Yet it was merely a very pretty drawing-room,
and within it a boudoir, both spread with white carpets, on which
seemed laid brilliant garlands of flowers ; both ceiled with snowy
mouldings of white grapes and vine-leaves, beneath which glowed
in rich contrast crimson couches and ottomans ; while the orna-
ments on the pale Parian mantelpiece were of sparkling Bohe-
mian glass, ruby red ; and between the windows large mirrors
repeated the general blending of snow and fire.

" In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax I" said I.
"No dust, no canvas coverings: except that the air feels chilly,
one would think they were inhabited daily."

"Why, Miss Eyre, though Mr. Rochester's visits here are
rare, they are always sudden and unexpected; and as I observed
that it put him out to find everything swathed up, and to have a
bustle of arrangement on his arrival, I thought it best to keep the
rooms in readiness."

" Is Mr. Rochester an exacting, fastidious sort of man ?"

"Not particularly so; but he has a gentleman's tastes and
habits, and he expects to have things managed in conformity to
them.

" Do you like him ? Is he generally liked ?"

"Oh, yes; the family have always been respected here.
Almost all the land in this neighbourhood, as far as you can see,
has belonged to the Rochesters time out of mind."

"Well, but, leaving his land out of the question, do you like
him ? Is he liked for himself?"

"/have no cause to do otherwise than like him ; and I believe
he is considered a just and liberal landlord by his tenants : but
he has never lived much amongst them."

" But has he no peculiarities ? What, in short, in his char-
acter?"

"Ohl his character is unimpeachable, I suppose. He is
rather peculiar, perhaps : he has travelled a great deal,* and seen
a great deal of the world, 1 should think. I dare say he is
clever: but I never had much conversation with him."

" In what way is he peculiar?"

M I don't know— it is not easy to describe—nothing striking,
but you feel it when he speaks to you : you cannot be always sure
whether he is in jest or earnest, whether he is pleased or the
contrary; you don't thoroughly nnderstand him, in short — at
least, I don't : but it is of no consequence, he is a very good
master."

go JANE EYRE.

This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax, of her
employer and mine. There are people who seem to have no
notion of sketching a character, or observing and describing
salient points, either in persons or things: the good lady
evidently belonged to this class; my queries puzzled, but did
not draw her out. Mr. Rochester was Mr. Rochester in her
eyes; a gentleman, a landed proprietor — nothing more: she
inquired and searched no further, and evidently wondered at my
wish to gain a more definite notion of his identity.

When we left the dining-room, she proposed to show me over
the rest of the house : and I followed her upstairs and down-
stairs, admiring as I went; for all was well-arranged and
handsome. The large front chambers I thought especially
grand ; and some of the third story rooms, though dark and low,
were interesting from their air of antiquity. The furniture once
appropriated to the lower apartments had from time to time
been removed here, as fashions changed: and the imperfect
light entering by their narrow casements showed bedsteads of a
hundred years old ; chests in oak or walnut, looking, with their
strange carvings of palm branches and cherubs' heads, like
types of the Hebrew ark ; rows of venerable chairs, high-backed
and narrow ; stools still more antiquated, on whose cushioned
tops were yet apparent traces of half-effaced embroideries,
wrought by fingers that for two generations had been coffin-dust.
All these relics gave to the third story of Thornfield Hall the
aspect of a home of the past — a shrine of memory. I liked the
hush, the gloom, the quaintness of these retreats in the day ;
but I by no means coveted a night's repose on one of those wide
and heavy beds : shut in, some of them with doors of oak ;
shaded, others with wrought old English hangings crusted with
thick work, portraying effigies of strange flowers, and stranger
birds, and strangest human beings — all which would have looked
strange, indeed, by the pallid gleam of moonlight.

" Do the servants sleep in these rooms ?" I asked.

" No ; they occupy a range of smaller apartments to the back ;
no one ever sleeps here. One would almost say that, if there
were a ghost at Thornfield Hall, this would be its haunt."

" So I think. You have no ghost, then ?"

" None that I ever heard of," returned Mrs. Fairfax, smiling.

" Nor any traditions of one ? No legends or ghost stories ?"

" I believe not. And yet it is said the Rochesters have been
rather a violent than a quiet race in their time. Perhaps,
though, that is the reason they rest tranquilly in their graves
now."

"Yes — 'after life's fitful fever they sleep well,'" I muttered.
"Where are you going now, Mrs. Fairfax," for she was moving
away.

"On to the leads; will you come and see the view from
thence?" I followed still, up a very narrow staircase to the
attics, and thence by a ladder and through a trap-door to the

JANE EYRE. gi

roof of the hall. I was now on a level with the crow colony,
and could see into their nests. Leaning over the battlements
and looking far down, I surveyed the grounds laid out like a
map : the bright and velvet lawn closely girdling the grey base
of the mansion ; the field, wide as a park, dotted with its
ancient timber; the wood, dun and sere, divided by a path
visibly overgrown, greener with moss than the trees were with
foliage ; the church at the gates, the road, the tranquil hills, all
reposing in the autumn day's sun; the horizon bounded by a
propitious sky, azure, marbled with pearly white. No feature in
the scene was extraordinary, but all was pleasing. When I
turned from it and repassed the trap-door, I could scarcely see
my way down the ladder ; the attic seemed black as a vault com-
pared with that arch of blue air to which I had been looking" up,
and to that sunlit scene of grove, pasture, and green hill of
which the hall was the centre, and over which I had been gazing
with delight.

Mrs. Fairfax stayed behind a moment to fasten the trap-door.
I, by dint of groping, found the outlet from the attic, and pro-
ceeded to descend the narrow garret staircase. I lingered in the
long passage to which this led, separating the front and back
rooms of the third story— narrow, low, and dim, with only one
little window at the far end, and looking, with its two rows of
small black doors all shut, like a corridor in some Bluebeard's
castle.

While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected to hear in
so still a region, a laugh, struck my ear. It was a curious
laugh— distinct, formal, mirthless. I stopped. The sound
ceased, only for an instant. It began again, louder — for at first,
though distinct, it was very low. It passed off in a clamorous
peal that seemed to wake an echo in every lonely chamber,
though it originated but in one, and I could have pointed out the
door whence the accents issued.

" Mrs. Fairfax 1" I called out — for I now heard her descending
the great stairs. " Did you hear that loud laugh ? Who is it?"

"Some of the servants, very likely," she answered: "perhaps
Grace Poole."

" Did you hear it?" I again inquired.

" Yes, plainly ; I often hear her. She sews in one of these
rooms. Sometimes Leah is with her ; they are frequently noisy
together."

The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone, and termi-
nated in an odd murmur.

" Grace I" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.

I really did not expect any Grace to answer, for the laugh was
as tragic, as preternatural a laugh as any I ever heard ; and,
but that it was high noon, and that no circumstance of ghostli-
ness accompanied the curious cachinnation ; but that neither
scene nor season favoured fear, I should have been supersti-

92 JANE EYRE.

tiously afraid. However, the event showed me I was a fool for
entertaining a sense even of surprise.

The door nearest me opened, and a servant came out, — a
woman of between thirty and forty ; a set, square-made figure,
red-haired, and with a hard, plain face : any apparition less
romantic or less ghostly could scarcely be conceived.

"Too much noise, Grace," said Mrs. Fairfax. "Remember
directions !" Grace curtseyed silently and went in.

" She is a person we have to sew and assist Leah in her house-
maid's work," continued the widow; "not altogether unobjec-
tionable in some points, but she does well enough. By-the-bye,
how have you got on with your new pupil this morning ?"

The conversation, thus turned on Adele, continued till we
reached the light and cheerful region below. Adele came run-
ning to meet us in the hall, exclaiming :

" Mesdames, vous etes servies !" adding, "J'ai bien faim
moi !"

We found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs. Fairfax'
room.

CHAPTER XII.

THE promise of a smooth career, which my first calm intro-
duction to Thornfield Hall seemed to pledge, was not
belied on a longer acquaintance with the place and its inmates.
Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be what she appeared, a placid-
tempered, kind-natured woman, of competent education and
average intelligence. My pupil was a lively child, who had
been spoilt and indulged, and therefore was sometimes way-
ward; but as she was committed entirely to my care, and no
injudicious interference from any quarter ever thwarted my plans
for her improvement, she soon forgot her little freaks, and
became obedient and teachable. She had no great talents, no
marked traits of character, no peculiar development of feeling or
taste which raised her one inch above the ordinary level of child-
hood ; but neither had she any deficiency or vice which sank her
below it. She made reasonable progress, entertained for me a
vivacious, though perhaps not very profound affection ; and by
her simplicity, gay prattle, and efforts to please, inspired me, in
return, with a degree of attachment sufficient to make us both
content in each other's society.

This par parenthtse, will be thought cool language by persons
who entertain solemn doctrines about the angelic nature of
children, and the duty of those charged with their education to
conceive for them an idolatrous devotion. But I am not writing
to flatter parental egotism, to echo cant, or prop up humbug ; I
am merely telling the truth. I felt a conscientious solicitude for
Adele's welfare and progress, and a quiet liking to her little self;

JANE EYRE. 93

just as I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax a thankfulness for her
kindness, and a pleasure in her society proportionate to the
tranquil regard she had for me, and the moderation of her mind
and character.

Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add further, that
now and then, when I took a walk by myself in the grounds ;
when I went down to the gates and looked through them along
the road; or when, while Adele played with her nurse, and
Mrs. Fairfax made jellies in the store-room, I climbed the three
staircases, raised the trap-door of the attic, and having reached
the leads, looked out afar over sequestered field and hill, and
along dim sky-line — that then I longed for a power of vision
which might overpass that limit : which might reach the busy
world, towns, regions full of life I had heard of but never seen ;
that then I desired more of practical experience than I
possessed ; more of intercourse with my kind, of acquaintance
with variety of character, than was here within my reach. I
valued what was good in Mrs. Fairfax, and what was good in
Adele ; but I believed in the existence of other and more vivid
kinds of goodness, and what I believed in I wished to behold.

Who blames me ? Many, no doubt ; and I shall be called dis-
contented. I could not help it; the restlessness was in my
nature ; it agitated me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief
was to walk along the corridor of the third story, backwards and
forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow
my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before
it — and, certainly, they were many and glowing ; to let my heart
be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it
in trouble, expanded it with life ; and, best of all, to open my
inward ear to a tale that was never ended— a tale my imagina-
tion created, and narrated continuously ; quickened with all of
incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my
actual existence.

It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with
tranquillity : they must have action ; and they will make it if they
cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than
mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody
knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment
in the masses of life which people earth. Women are sup-
posed to be very calm generally : but women feel just as men
feel ; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their
efforts as much as their brothers do ; they suffer from too rigid a
restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would
suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-
creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making"
puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano, and
embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh
at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has
pronounced necessary for their sex.

When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace Poole's

94 JANE EYRE.

laugh : the same peal, the same low, slow ha ! ho ! which, when
first heard had thrilled me : I heard, too, her eccentric murmurs ;
stranger than her laugh. There were days when she was quite
silent ; but there were others when I could not account for the
sounds she made. Sometimes I saw her : she would come out
of her room with a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her hand, go
down to the kitchen and shortly return, generally (oh, romantic
reader, forgive me for telling the plain truth !) bearing a pot of
porter. Her appearance always acted as a damper to the
curiosity raised by her oral oddities : hard-featured and staid,
she had no point to which interest could attach. I made some
attempts to draw her into conversation, but she seemed a person
of few words : a monosyllabic reply usually cut short every effort
of that sort.

The other members of the household, viz, John and his wife,
Leah the housemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent
people ; but in no respect remarkable : with Sophie I used to talk
French, and sometimes I asked her questions about her native
country ; but she was not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and
generally gave such vapid and confused answers as were
calculated rather to check than encourage inquiry.

October, November, December passed away. One afternoon
in January, Mrs. Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele,
because she had a cold ; and, as Adele seconded the request with
an ardour that reminded me how precious occasional holidays
had been to me in my own childhood, I accorded it, deeming
that I did well in showing pliability on the point. It was a fine,
calm day, though very cold ; I was tired of sitting still in the
library through a whole long morning: Mrs. Fairfax had just
written a letter which was waiting to be posted, so I put on my
bonnet and cloak and volunteered to carry it to Hay : the dis-
tance, two miles, would be a pleasant winter afternoon walk.
Having seen Adele comfortably seated in her little chair by Mrs.
Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her her best wax doll (which
I usually kept enveloped in silver paper in a drawer) to play with,
and a story-book for change of amusement ; and having replied
to her " Revenez bient6t, ma bonne amie, ma chere Mdlle.
Jeannette," with a kiss, I set out.

The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely ; I
walked fast till I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy
and analyse the species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour
and situation. It was three o'clock; the church bell tolled as I
passed under the belfry: the charm of the hour lay in its
approaching dimness, in the low-gliding and pale-beaming sun.
1 was a mile "from Thornfield, in a lane noted for wild roses in
summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, and even now
possessing a few coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best
winter delight lay in its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a
breath of air stirred, it made no sound here ; for there was not a
holly, not an evergreen to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and

JANE EYRE. 95

hazel bushes were as still as the white, worn stones which cause-
wayed the middle of the path. Far and wide, on each side,
there were only fields, where no cattle now browsed; and the
little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in the hedge,
looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.

This lane inclined uphill all the way to Hay ; having reached
the middle, I sat down on a style which led thence into a field.
Gathering my mantle about me, and sheltering may hands in my
muff, I did not feel the cold, though it froze keenly; as was
attested by a sheet of ice covering the causeway, where a little
brooklet, now congealed had overflowed after a rapid thaw
some days since. From my seat I could look down on Thorn-
field : the grey and battlemented hall was the principal object in
the vale below me ; its woods and dark rookery rose against the
west. I lingered till the sun went down amongst the trees, and
sank crimson and clear behind them. I then turned eastward.

On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon ; pale yet as a
cloud, but brightening momently ; she looked over Hay, which
half lost in trees, sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys ; it
was yet a mile distant, but in the absolute hush 1 could hear
plainly its thin murmurs of life. My ear too felt the flow of cur-
rents ; in what dales and depths I could not tell : but there were
many hills beyond Hay, and doubtless many becks threading
their passes. That evening calm betrayed alike the tinkle of the
nearest streams, the sough of the most remote.

A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at
once so far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp; a
metallic clatter, which effaced the soft wave- wanderings ; as, in
a picture, the solid mass of a crag, or the rough boles of a great
oak, drawn in dark and strong on the foregroud, efface the aCrial
distance of azure hill, sunny horizon, and blended clouds, where
tint melts into tint.

The din was on the causeway : a horse was coming ; the wind-
ings of the lane yet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving
the stile ; yet, as the path was narrow, I sat still to let it go by.
In those days I was young, and all sorts of fancies bright and
dark tenanted my mind : the memories of nursery stories were
there amongst other rubbish ; and when they recurred, maturing
youth added to them a vigour and vividness beyond what child-
hood could give. As this horse approached, and as I watched
for it to appear through the dusk, I remembered certain of
Bessie's tales, wherein figured a North-of-England spirit, called
a "Gytrash;" which, in the form of horse, mule, or large dog,
haunted solitary ways, and sometimes came upon belated
travellers, as this horse was now coming upon me.

It was very near, but not yet in sight ; when, in addition to
the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close
down by the hazel stems glided a great dog, whose black and
white colour made him a distinct object against the trees. It
was exactly one mask of Bessie's Gytrash — a lion-like creature

96 JANE EYRE.

with long hair and a huge head : it passed me, however, quietly
enough ; not staying to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes,
in my face, as I half expected it would. The horse followed — a
tall steed and on its back a rider. The man, the human being,
broke the spell at once. Nothing ever rode the Gytrash : it was
always alone; and goblins, to my notions, though they might
tenant the dumb carcases of beast, could scarce covet shelter in
the commonplace human form. No Gytrash was this — only a
traveller taking the short cut to Millcote. He passed and I went
on ; a few steps, and I turned ; a sliding sound and an exclama-
tion of " What the deuce is to do now ?" and a clattering tumble,
arrested my attention. Man and horse were down ; they had
slipped on the sheet of ice which glazed the causeway. The dog
came bounding back, and seeing his master in a predicament,
and hearing the horse groan, barked till the evening hills echoed
the sound, which was deep in proportion to his magnitude. He
snuffed round the prostrate group, and then he ran up to me ; it
was all he could do — there was no other help at hand to summon.
I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller, by this time
struggling himself free of his steed. His efforts were so vigorous,
I thought he could not be much hurt; but I asked him the
question :

"Are you injured, sir?"

I think he was swearing but am not certain ; however, he was
pronouncing some formula which prevented him from replying to
me directly.

" Can I do anything?" I asked again.

"You must just stand on one side," he answered as he rose,
first to his knees, and then to his feet. I did ; whereupon began
a heaving, stamping, clattering process, accompanied by a
barking and baying which removed me effectually some yards
distance ; but I would not be driven quite away till I saw the
event. This was finally fortunate ; the horse was re-established,
and the dog was silenced with a " Down, Pilot !" The traveller
now, stooping, felt his foot and leg, as if trying whether they
were sound; apparently something ailed them, for he halted to
the stile whence I had just risen, and sat down.

I was in the mood for being useful, or at least officious, I think
for I now drew near him again.

" If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch some one
either from Thornfield Hall or from Hay."

"Thank you; I shall do: I have no broken bones — only a
sprain ;" and again he stood up and tried his foot, but the result
extorted an involuntary " Ugh !"

Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxing
bright : I could see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in a
riding cloak, fur collared, and steel clasped ; its details were not
apparent, but I traced the general points of middle height, and
considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern
features and a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows

JANE EYRE. 97

looked ireful and thwarted just now ; he was past youth, but had
not reached middle age ; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt
no fear of him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome,
heroic-looking young gentleman, I should not have dared to
stand thus questioning him against his will, and offering my ser-
vices unasked. I had hardly ever seen a handsome youth;
never in my life spoken to one. I had a theoretical reverence
and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry, fascination ; but
had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape, I should
have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have
sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them
as one would fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright
but antipathetic.

If even this stranger had smiled and been good-humoured to
me when I addressed him ; if he had put off my offer of assist-
ance gaily and with thanks, I should have gone on my way and
not felt any vocation to renew inquiries ; but the frown, the rough-
ness of the traveller set me at my ease ; I retained my station
when he waved me to go, and announced : —

" I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this
solitary lane, till I see you are fit to mount your horse."

He looked at me when I said this : he had hardly turned his
eyes in my direction before.

" I should think you ought to be at home yourself,'.' said he,
" if you have a home in this neighbourhood. Where do you
come from?"

11 From just below ; and I am not at all afraid of being out late
when it is moonlight. I will run over to Hay for you with

f)leasure, if you wish it ; indeed, I am going there to post a
etter."

"You live just below — do you mean at that house with the
battlements ?" pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon
cast a hoary gleam, bringing it out distinct and pale from the
woods, that, by contrast with the western sky, now seemed one
mass of shadow. »

"Yes, sir."

" Whose house is it ?"

" Mr. Rochester's."

" Do you know Mr. Rochester?"

" No, I have never seen him."

" He is not resident, then ?"

"No."

" Can you tell me where he is ?"

" I cannot."

"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are "

He stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was
quite simple — a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet;
neither of them half fine enough for a lady's maid. He seemed
puzzled to decide what I was— I helped him.

" I am the governess 1"

C

98 JANE EYRE.

"Ah, the governess !" he repeated; " deuce take me, if I had
not forgotten ! The governess!" and again my raiment under-
went scrutiny. In two minutes he rose from the stile ; his face
expressed pain when he tried to move.

"I cannot commission you to fetch help," he said; "but you
may help me a little yourself, if you will be so kind."

"Yes, sir."

" You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick ?"

"No."

"Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me.
You are not afraid ?"

I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but
when told to do it I was disposed to obey. I put down my
muff on the stile, and went up to the tall steed ; I endeavoured
to catch the bridle, but it was a spirited thing, and would not let
me come near its head ; I made effort on effort, though in vain :
meantime, I was mortally afraid of its trampling fore-feet. The
traveller waited and watched for some time, and at last he
laughed.

"I see," he said; "the mountain will never be brought to
Mahomet, so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the
mountain ; I must beg of you to come here."

I came. " Excuse me," he continued ; " necessity compels me
to make you useful." He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and,
leaning on me with some stress, limped to his horse. Having
once caught the bridle, he mastered it directly, and sprang to his
saddle, grimacing grimly as he made the effort, for it wrenched
his sprain.

" Now," said he, releasing his under-lip from a hard bite,
"just hand me my whip ; it lies there under the hedge."

I sought it and found it.

"Thank you; now make haste with the letter to Hay, and
return as fast as you can."

A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear
and then bound away ; the dog rushed in his traces : all three
vanished,

" Like heath that, in the wilderness,
The wild wind whirls away."

I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had occurred
and was gone for me: it was an incident of no moment, no
romance, no interest in a sense ; yet it marked with change one
single hour of a monotonous life. My help had been needed and
claimed ; I had given it : I was pleased to have done something,
trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet an active thing,
and I was weary of an existence all passive. The new face, too,
was like a new picture introduced to the gallery of memory, and
it was dissimilar to all the others hanging there : firstly, because
it was masculine ; and, secondly, because it was dark, strong,
and stem. I had it still before me when I entered Hay, and

JANE EYRE. 99

slipped the letter into the post-office ; I saw it as I walked fast
down hill all the way home. When I came to the stile, I stopped
a minute, looked round and listened, with an idea that a horse's
hoofs might ring on the causeway again, and that a rider in a
cloak, and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland dog, might be again
apparent ; I saw only the hedge and a pollard willow before me,
rising up still and straight to meet the moon-beams ; I heard
only the faintest waft of wind roaming fitful among the trees
round Thornfield, a mile distant ; and when I glanced down in
the direction of the murmur, my eye, traversing the hall front,
caught a light kindling in a window : it reminded me that I was
late, and I hurried on.

I did not like re-entering Thornfield. To pass its threshold
was to return to stagnation ; to cross the silent hall, to ascend
the darksome staircase, to seek my own lonely little room, and
then to meet tranquil Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter
evening with her, and her only, was to quell wholly the faint
excitement wakened by my walk — to slip again over my faculties
the viewless fetters of a uniform and too still existence ; of an
existence whose very privileges of security and ease I was be-
coming incapable of appreciating. What good it would have
done me at that time to have been tossed in the storms of an
uncertain struggling life, and to have been taught by rough and
bitter experience to long for the calm amidst which I now
repined I Yes ; just as much good as it would do a man tired of
sitting still in a " too easy chair" to take a long walk : and just
as natural was the wish to stir, under my circumstances, as it
would be under his.

I lingered at the gates ; I lingered on the lawn ; I paced back-
wards and forwards on the pavement ; the shutters of the glass
door were closed ; I could not see into the interior: and both my
eyes and spirit seemed drawn from the gloomy house — from the
grey hollow filled with rayless cells, as it appeared to me — to that
sky expanded before me— a blue sea absolved from taint of cloud,
the moon ascending it in solemn march ; her orb seeming to look
up as she left the hill-tops, from behind which she had come, far
and farther below her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight dark
in its fathomless depth and measureless distance : and for those
trembling stars that followed her course ; they made my heart
tremble, my veins glow when I viewed them. Little things recall
us to earth : the clock struck in the hall ; that sufficed. I turned
from moon and stars, opened a side-door, and went in.

The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the high-hung
bronze lamp. A warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps
of the oak staircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great
dining-room, whose two-leaved door stood open, and showed a
genial fire in the grate, glancing on marble hearth and brass
fire-irons, and revealing purple draperies and polished furniture
in the most pleasant radiance. It revealed, too, a group near
the mantelpiece. I had scarcely caught it, and scarcely become

100 JANE EYRE.

aware of a cheerful mingling of voices, amongst which I seemed
to distinguish the tones of Adele, when the door closed.

I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room. There was a fire there
too, but no candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone,
sitting upright on the rug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze,
I beheld a great black and white long-haired dog, just like the
Gytrash of the lane. It was so like it that I went forward and
said : —

"Pilot," and the thing got up and came to me and snuffed
me. I caressed him, and he wagged his great tail, but he looked
an eerie creature to be alone with, and I could not tell whence
he had come. I rang the bell, for I wanted a candle; and
I wanted, too, to get an account of this visitant.

Leah entered.

" What dog is this ?"

"He came with master."

"With whom?"

"With master — Mr. Rochester — he is just arrived."

" Indeed ! And is Mrs. Fairfax with him ?"

"Yes, and Miss Adela ; they are in the dining-room, and
John is gone for a surgeon, for master has had an accident. His
horse fell, and his ankle is sprained."

" Did the horse fall in Hay Lane ?"

" Yes, coming down hill ; it slipped on some ice."

" Ah ! Bring me a candle, will you, Leah ?"

Leah brought it. She entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who
repeated the news, adding that Mr. Carter, the surgeon, was
come, and was now with Mr. Rochester. Then she hurried out
to give orders about tea, and I went upstairs to take off my
things.

CHAPTER XIII.

MR. ROCHESTER, it seems, by the surgeon's orders, went
to bed early that night ; nor did he rise soon next morn-
ing. When he did come down, it was to attend to business.
His agent and some of his tenants were arrived, and waiting to
speak with him.

Adele and I had now to vacate the library : it would be in
daily requisition as a reception-room for callers. A fire was lit
in an apartment upstairs, and there I carried our books, and
arranged it for the future schoolroom. I discerned in the course
of the morning that Thornfield Hall was a changed place. No
longer silent as a church, it echoed every hour or two to a knock
at the door or a clang of the bell. Steps, too, often traversed the
hall, and new voices spoke in different keys below. A rill from
the outer world was flowing through it. It had a master ; for
my part, I liked it better.

JANE EYRE. 101

Ad61e was not easy to teach that day, she could not apply.
She kept running: to the door and looking over the banisters to
see if she could get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester. Then she
coined pretexts to go down stairs, in order, as I shrewdly sus-
pected, to visit the library, where I knew she was not wanted.
Then, when I £ot a little angry, and made her sit still, she con-
tinued to talk incessantly of her " ami, Monsieur Edouard Fair-
fax de Rochester," as she dubbed him (I had not before heard
his prenomens), and to conjecture what presents he had brought
her, for it appears he had intimated the night before that, when
his luggage came from Millcote, there would be found amongst
it a little box in whose contents she had an interest.

" Et cela doit signifier," said she, " qu'il y aura la dedans un
cadeau pour moi, et peut-fitre pour vous aussi, mademoiselle.
Monsieur a parle de vous : il m'a demande le nom de ma ^ouver-
nante, et si elle n'etait pas une petite personne, assez mince et
un peu pale. J'ai dit qu'oui : car c'est vrai, n'est-ce pas,
mademoiselle?"

I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour. The
afternoon was wild and snowy, and we passed it in the school-
room. At dark I allowed Adele to put away books and work,
and to run down stairs ; for, from the comparative silence below,
and from the cessation of appeals to the doorbell, I conjectured
that Mr. Rochester was now at liberty. Left alone, I walked to
the window ; but nothing was to be seen thence. Twilight and
snowflakes together thickened the air, and hid the very shrubs
on the lawn. I let down the curtain and went back to the
fireside.

In the clear embers I was tracing a view, not unlike a picture I
remembered to have seen of the castle at Heidelberg, on the
Rhine, when Mrs. Fairfax came in, breaking up by her entrance
the fiery mosaic I had been piecing together, and scattering too
some heavy unwelcome thoughts that were beginning to throng
on my solitude.

"Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would
take tea with him in the drawing-room this evening," said she.
" He has been so much engaged all day that he could not ask to
see you before."

" When is his tea-time ?" I inquired.

" Oh, at six o'clock. He keeps early hours in the country.
You had better change your frock now ; I will go with you and
fasten it. Here is a candle."

" Is it necessary to change my frock ?"

" Yes, you had better. I always dress for the evening when
Mr. Rochester is here."

This additional ceremony seemed somewhat stately. However
1 repaired to my room, and, with Mrs. Fairfax's aid, replaced
my black stuff dress by one of black silk ; the best and the only
additional one I had, except one of light grey, which, in my

102 JANE EYRE.

Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought too fine to be worn,
except on first-rate occasions.

"You want a brooch," said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a single little
pearl ornament which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keep-
sake. I put it on, and then we went down stairs. Unused as I
was to strangers, it was rather a trial to appear thus formally
summoned in Mr. Rochester's presence. I let Mrs. Fairfax pre-
cede me into the dining-room, and kept in her shade as we
crossed that apartment ; and, passing the arch, whose curtain
was now dropped, entered the elegant recess beyond.

Two wax candles stood lighted on the table, and two on the
mantelpiece ; basking in the light and heat of a superb fire, lay
Pilot — Adele knelt near him. Half reclined on a couch appeared
Mr. Rochester, his foot supported by the cushion ; he was look-
ing at Adele and the dog. The fire shone full on his face. I
knew my traveller with his broad and jetty eyebrows, his square
forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair.
I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character
than beauty, his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler ; his
grim mouth, chin, and jaw — yes, all three were very grim, and
no mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived har-
monised in squareness with his physiognomy. I suppose it was
a good figure in the athletic sense of the term — broad chested
and thin flanked, though neither tall nor graceful.

Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs.
Fairfax and myself; but it appeared he was not in the mood to
notice us, for he never lifted his head as we approached.

"Here is Miss Eyre, sir," said Mrs. Fairfax, in her quiet
way. He bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the
dog and child.

"Let Miss Eyre be seated," said he; and there was some-
thing in the forced stiff bow, in the impatient yet formal tone,
which seemed further to express, "What the deuce is* it to me
whether Miss Eyre be there or not ? At this moment I am not
disposed to accost her."

I sat down quite disembarrassed. A reception of finished
politeness would probably have confused me. I could not have
returned or repaid it by answering grace and elegance on my
part ; but harsh caprice laid me under no obligation ; on the
contrary, a decent quiescence, under the freak of manner, gave
me the advantage. Besides, the eccentricity of the proceeding
was piquant. I felt interested to see how he would go on.

He went on as a statue would, that is, he neither spoke nor
moved. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that some one
should be amiable, and she began to talk. Kindly, as usual —
and, as usual, rather trite — she condoled with him on the pres-
sure of business he had had all day ; on the annoyance it must
have been to him with that painful sprain. Then she commended
his patience and perseverance in going through with it.

" Madam, I should like some tea," was the sole rejoinder she

JANE EYRE. IO3

got. She hastened to ring the bell ; and, when the tray came,
she proceeded to arrange the cups, spoons, &c, with assiduous
celerity. I and Adele went to the table, but the master did not
leave his couch.

11 Will you hand Mr. Rochester's cup?" said Mrs. Fairfax to
me: " Adele might perhaps spill it."

I did as requested. As he took the cup from my hand, Adele,
thinking the moment propitious for making a request in my
favour, cried out :

" N'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Madem-
oiselle Eyre, dans votre petit coffre?"

" Who talks of cadeaux ?" said he, gruffly: "did you expect
a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents t" and he
searched my face with eyes that I saw were dark, irate, and
piercing.

"I hardly know, sir; I have little experience of them. They
are generally thought pleasant things.

"Generally thought t But what do you think ?"

" I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give an
answer worthy of your acceptance : a present has many faces to
it, has it not t and one should consider all, before pronouncing
an opinion as to its nature."

" Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele : she
demands a 'cadeau,' clamorously, the moment she sees me:
you beat about the bush."

" Because I have less confidence in my deserts than Adele has.
She can prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too
of custom; for she says you have always been in the habit of
giving her playthings ; but if I had to make out a case, I should
be puzzled, since I am a stranger, and have done -nothing to
entitle me to an acknowledgment."

"Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty! I have examined
Adele, and find you have taken great pains with her. She is not
bright, she has no talents; yet in a short time she has made
much improvement."

" Sir, ^ou have now given me my 'cadeau:' I am obliged to
you : it is the meed teachers most covet ; praise of their pupils'
progress."

"Humph!" said Mr. Rochester, and he took his tea in
silence.

" Come to the fire," said the master, when the tray wa9 taken
away, and Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knit-
ting; while Adele was leading me by the hand round the room*
showing me the beautiful books ana ornaments on the consoles
and chiffonnieres. We obeyed, as in duty bound ; Adele wanted
to take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself
with Pilot.

" You have been resident in my house three months?"

"Yes, sir."

" And you came from ?"

104 JANE EYRE.

" From Lowood school, in shire."

" Ah ! a charitable concern. How long were you there ?"

11 Eight years."

" Eight years ! you must be tenacious of life. I thought half
the time in such a place would have done up any constitution !
No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I mar-
velled where you had got that sort of face. When you came on
me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy
tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched
my horse : I am not sure yet. Who are your parents ?"

" I have none."

" Nor ever had, I suppose. Do you remember them ?"

"No."

" I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people
when you sat on that stile ?"

" For whom, sir?"

" For the men in green : it was a proper moonlight evening for
them. Did I break through one of your rings, that you spread
that damned ice on the causeway?"

I shook my head. "The men in green all forsook England a
hundred years ago," said I, speaking as seriously as he had
done. " And not even in Hay Lane, or the fields about it, could
you find a trace of them. I don't think either summer or
harvest, or winter moon, will ever shine on their revels more."

Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eye-
brows, seemed wondering what sort of talk this was.

"Well," resumed Mr. Rochester, "if you disown parents, you
must have some sort of kinsfolk : uncles and aunts ?"

" No ; none that I ever saw."

"And your home?"

" I have none."

" Where do your brothers and sisters live ?"

" I have no brothers or sisters."

" Who recommended you to come here ?"

" I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement."

"Yes," said the good lady, who now knew what ground we
were upon, " and I am daily thankful for the choice Providence
led me to make. Miss Eyre has been an invaluable companion
to me, and a kind and careful teacher to Adele."

" Don't trouble yourself to give her a character," returned Mr.
Rochester: " eulogiums will not bias me; I shall judge for
myself. She began by felling my horse."

"Sir?" said Mrs. Fairfax.

" I have to thank her for this sprain."

The widow looked bewildered.

" Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a town ?"

"No, sir."

" Have you seen much society ?"

" None but the pupils and teachers of Lowood; and now the
inmates of Thornfield."

JANE EYRE. IO5

" Have you read much ?"

"Only such books as came in my way; and they have not
been numerous, or very learned."

"You have lived tne life of a nun: no doubt you are well
drilled in religious forms ; — Brocklehurst, who I understand
directs Lowood, is a parson, is he not ?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you girls probably worshipped him, as a convent full of
religieuses would worship their director."

"Oh, no."

" You are very cool 1 No 1 What ! a novice not worship her
priest ! That sounds blasphemous."

"I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone in the
feeling. He is a harsh man ; at once pompous and meddling :
he cut off our hair; and for economy's sake bought us bad
needles and thread, with which we could hardly sew."

" That was very false economy," remarked Mrs. Fairfax, who
now again caught the drift of the dialogue.

"And was that the head and front of his offending?"
demanded Mr. Rochester.

"He starved us when he had sole superintendence of the
provision department, before the committee was appointed ; and
he bored us with long lectures once a week, and with evening
readings from books of his own inditing, about sudden deaths
and judgments, which made us afraid to go to bed."

" What age were you when you went to Lowood ?"

"About ten."

"And you stayed there eight years : you are now, then, eigh-
teen?"

I assented.

"Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I should
hardly have been able to guess your age. It is a point difficult
to fix where the features and countenance are so much at vari-
ance as in your case. And now what did you learn at Lowood ?
Can you play?"

"A little/'

"Of course: that is the established answer. Go into the
library — I mean, if you please.— (Excuse my tone of command ; I
am used to say ' Do this,' and it is done : I cannot alter my
customary habits for one new inmate.) — Go, then, into the
library ; take a candle with you ; leave the door open ; sit down
to the piano, and play a tune."

I departed, obeying his directions.

"Enough I" he called out in a few minutes. "You play a
Utile, I see ; like any other English school-girl : perhaps rather
better than some, but not well.'*

I closed the piano, and returned. Mr. Rochester continued.

"Adele showed me some sketches this morning, which she
said were yours. I don't know whether they were entirely of
your doing : probably a master aided you ?"

106 JANE EYRE.

"No, indeed!" I interjected.

"Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if
you can vouch for its contents being original ; but don't pass
your word unless you are certain : I can recognise patchwork."

"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself,
sir."

I brought the portfolio from the library.

"Approach the table," said he : and I wheeled it to his couch.
Adele and Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.

"No crowding," said Mr. Rochester: "take the drawings
from my hand as I finish with them ; but don't push your faces
up to mine."

He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three
he laid aside ; the others, when he had examined them, he swept
from him.

"Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax," said he,
"and look at them with Adele;— you" (glancing at me)
" resume your seat and answer my questions. I perceive these
pictures were done by one hand : was that hand yours ?' '

"Yes."

" And when did you find time to do them ? They have taken
much time, and some thought."

" I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood,
when I had no other occupation."

" Where did you get your copies ?"

"Out of my head."

" That head I see now on your shoulders ?''

"Yes, sir."

" Has it other furniture of the same kind within ?"

" I should think it may have : I hope — better."

He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them
alternately.

While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are,
and first, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. The
subjects had, indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them
with the spiritual eye, before I attempted to embody them, they
were striking ; but my hand would not second my fancy, and in
each case it had wrought out but a pale portait of the thing I
had conceived.

These pictures were in water-colours. The first represented
clouds low and livid, rolling over a swollen sea : all the distance
was in eclipse; so, too, was the foreground, or, rather, the
nearest billows, for there was no land. One gleam of light
lifted into relief a half-submerged mast, on which sat a cor-
morant, dark and large, with wings flecked with foam ; its beak
held a gold bracelet, set with gems, that I had touched with as
brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glittering dis-
tinctness as my pencil could impart. Sinking below the bird and
mast, a drowned corpse glanced through the green water ; a fair

JANE EYRE. IO7

arm was the only limb clearly visible, whence the bracelet had
been washed or torn.

The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak
of a hill, with grass and some leaves, slanting as if by a breeze.
Beyond and above spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at
twilight : rising into the sky was a woman's shape to the bust,
portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as I could combine. The dim
forehead was crowned with a stir ; the lineaments below were
seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark
and wild: the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud
torn by storm or by electric travail. On the neck lay a pale
reflection like moonlight ; the faint lustre touched the train of
thin clouds from which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening
Star.

The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar
winter sky: a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances,
close serried, along the horizon. Throwing these into dis-
tance, rose, in the foreground, a head — a colossal head, inclined
towards the iceberg, and resting against it. Two thin hands,
ioined under the forehead, and supporting it, drew up before the
lower features a sable veil; a brow quite bloodless, white as
bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning, but for the
glassiness of despair, alone was visible. Above the temples,
amidst wreathed turban folds of black drapery, vague in its
character and consistency as cloud, gleamed a ring of white
flame, gemmed with sparkles of a more lurid tinge. This pale
crescent was "The likeness of a Kingly Crown;" what it
diademed was " the shape which shape had none."

"Were you happy when you painted these pictures?" asked
Mr. Rochester, presently.

" I was absorbed, sir; yes, and I was happy. To paint them,
in short, was to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever
known."

"That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own
account, have been few ; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of
artist's dreamland while you blent and arranged these strange
tints. Did you sit at them long each day ?"

" I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I
sat at them from morning till ndon, and from noon till night :
the length of the midsummer days favoured my inclination to
apply."

"And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent
labours ?

"Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my
idea and my handiwork : in each case I had imagined something
which I was quite powerless to realise."

" Not quite. You have secured the shadow of your thought *,
but no more, probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill
and science to give it full being: yet the drawings are, for a
school girl, peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These

108 JANE EYRE.

eyes in the Evening Star you must have seen in a dream. How
could you make them look so clear, and yet not at all brilliant ?
for the planet above quells their rays. And what meaning is that
in their solemn depth ? And who taught you to paint wind ?
There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hill-top. Where
did you see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There — put the
drawings away."

I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking at
his watch, he said abruptly :

"It is nine o'clock : what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let
Adele sit up so long? Take her to bed."

Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room. He endured
the caress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would
have done, not so much,

"I wish you all good-night, now," said he, making a move-
ment of the hand towards the door, in token that he was tired of
our company, and wished to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up
her knitting: I took my portfolio : we curtseyed to him, received
a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew.

"You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs.
Fairfax," I observed, when I rejoined her in her room, after
putting Adele to bed.

"Well, is he?"

" I think so. He is very changeful and abrupt."

" True I no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so
accustomed to his manner, I never think of it : and then, if he
has peculiarities of temper, allowances should be made."

"Why?"

" Partly because it is his nature — and we can none of us help
our nature ; and, partly, he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to
harass him, and make his spirits unequal."

"What about?"

" Family troubles, for one thing."

" But he has no family."

" Not now, but he has had — or, at least, relatives. He lost his
elder brother a few years since."

" His elder brother ?"

"Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in
possession of the property — only about nine years."

" Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his
brother as to be still inconsolable for his loss ?"

"Why, no perhaps not. I believe there were some misunder-
standings between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite
just to Mr. Edward — and perhaps he prejudiced his father against
him. The old gentleman was fond of money, and anxious to
keep the family estate together. He did not like to diminish the
property by division, and yet he was anxious that Mr. Edward
should have wealth, too, to keep up the consequence of the same :
and soon after he was of age, some steps were taken that were
not quite fair, and made a great deal of mischief. Old Mr.

JANE EYRE. IOg

Rochester and Mr. Rowland combined to bring Mr. Edward into
what he considered a painful position, for the sake of making his
fortune: what the precise nature of that position was I never
clearly knew, but his spirit could not brook what he had to suffer
in it. He is not very forgiving. He broke with his family, and
now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life. I don't
think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for a fortnight
together, since the death of his brother without a will left him
master of the estate ; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old
place."

" Why should he shun it ?"

" Perhaps he thinks it gloomy."

The answer was evasive — I should have liked something
clearer ; but Mrs. Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me
more explicit information of the origin and nature of Mr.
Rochester's trials. She averred they were a mystery to herself,
and that what she knew was chiefly from conjecture. It was
evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop the subject, which I
did accordingly.

CHAPTER XIV.

FOR several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester.
In the mornings he seemed much engaged with business,
and, in the afternoon, gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbour-
hood called, and sometimes stayed to dine with him. When his
sprain was well enough to admit of horse exercise, he rode out a
good deal ; probably to return these visits, as he generally did
not come back till late at night.

During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his
presence ; and all my acquaintance with him was confined to an
occasional rencontre in the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery,
when he would sometimes pass me haughtily and coldly, just
acknowledging my presence by a distant nod or a cool glance,
and sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike affability. His
changes of mood did not offend me, because I saw that I had
nothing to do with their alternation ; the ebb and flow depended
on causes quite disconnected with me.

One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my
portfolio ; in order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents : the gentle-
men went away early, to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as
Mrs. Fairfax informed me; but the night being wet and incle-
ment, Mr. Rochester did not accompany them. Soon after they
were gone, he rang the bell : a message came that I and Adele
were to go downstairs. I brushed Adele's hair and made her
neat, and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual
Quaker trim, where there was nothing to retouch — all being too

110 JANE EYRE.

close and plain, braided locks included, to admit of disarrange-
ment — we descended, Adele wondering whether the petit coffre
was at length come ; for owing to some mistake, its arrival had
hitherto been delayed. She was gratified : there it stood, a little
carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room. She
appeared to know it by instinct.

" Ma boite ! ma boite !" exclaimed she, running towards it.

" Yes — there is your ' boite ' at last : take it into a corner, you
genuine daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowel-
ling it," said the deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Roches-
ter, proceeding from the depths of an immense easy chair at the
fireside. "And mind," he continued, "don't bother me with
any details of the anatomical process, or any notice of the con-
dition of the entrails; let your operation be conducted in silence;
tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; comprends-tu ?"

Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning ; she had already
retired to a sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord
which secured the lid. Having removed this impediment, and
lifted certain silvery envelopes of tissue paper, she merely
exclaimed :

" Oh ciel ! Que c'est beau !" and then remained absorbed in
ecstatic contemplation.

" Is Miss Eyre there?" now demanded the master, half rising
from his seat to look round to the door, near which I still stood.

"Ah! well; come forward: be seated here." He drew a
chair near his own. " I am not fond of the prattle of children,"
he continued; "for, old bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant
associations connected with their lisp. It would be intolerable
to me to pass a whole evening t4te-a-t6te with a brat. Don't
draw that chair further off, Miss Eyre ; sit down exactly where I
placed it — if you please, that is. Confound these civilities ! I
continually forget them. Nor do I particularly affect simple-
minded old ladies. By-the-by, I must have mine in mind; it
won't do to neglect her; she is a Fairfax, or wed to one; and
blood is taid to be thicker than water."

He rang and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who
soon arrived, knitting-basket in hand.

" Good evening, madam ; I sent to you for a charitable pur-
pose : I have forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents,
and she is bursting with repletion ; have the goodness to serve
her as auditress and interlocutrice ; it will be one of the most
benevolent acts you ever performed."

Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax than she summoned
her to her sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain,
the ivory, the waxen contents of her " boite ;" pouring out, mean-
time, explanations and raptures in such broken English as she
was mistress of.

" Now I have performed the part of a good host," pursued Mr.
Rochester; " put my guests into the way of amusing each other,
I ought to be at liberty to attend to my own pleasure Miss

JANE EYRE. Ill

Eyre, draw your chair still a little further forward : you are yet
too far back ; I cannot see you without disturbing my position in
this comfortable chair, which I have no mind to do.

I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained
somewhat in the shade: but Mr. Rochester had such a direct
way of giving orders, it seemed a matter of course, to obey him
promptly.

We were, as I have said, in the dining-room : the lustre, which
had been lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breath of
light ; the large fire was all red and clear ; the purple curtains
hung rich and ample before the fofty window and loftier arch ;
everything was still save the subdued chat of Adele (she dared
not speak loud), and, filling up each pause, the beating of winter
rain against the panes.

Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked
different to what I had seen him look before ; not quite so stern
— much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his
eyes sparkled, whether with wine or not, I am not sure ; but I
tnink it very probable. He was, in short, in his after-dinner
mood ; more expanded and genial, and also more self-indulgent
than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning : still he looked
preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swelling
back of his chair, and receiving the light of the fire on his
granite-hewn features, and in his great, dark eyes ; for he had
great, dark eyes, and very fine eyes, too — not without a certain
change in their depths sometimes, which, if it was not softness,
reminded you, at least, of that feeling.

He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been
looking the same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly,
he caught my gaze fastened on his physiognomy.

"You examine me, Miss Eyre," said he: "do you think me
handsome?"

I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by
something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer
somehow slipped from my tongue before I was aware: — "No,
sir."

"Ah 1 By my wordl there is something singular about you,"
said he: "you have the* air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet,
grave, and simple, as you sit with your hands before you, and
your eyes generally bent on the carpet (except, by-the-by, when
they are directed piercingly to my face; as just now, for
instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes a
remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round
rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you
mean by it?"

" Sir, I was too plain : I beg your pardon. I ought to have
replied that it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a
question about appearances ; that tastes differ ; that beauty is of
little consequence, or something of that sort."

" You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little

112 JANE EYRE.

consequence, indeed ! And so, under pretence of softening the
previous outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, you
stick a sly penknife under my ear ! Go on : what fault do you
find with me, pray ? I suppose I have all my limbs and all my
features like any other man ?"

"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I
intended no pointed repartee : it was only a blunder."

"Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it.
Criticise me : does my forehead not please you ?"

He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over
his brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs,
but an abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence
should have risen.

" Now, ma'am, am I a fool ?"

" Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I
inquired in return whether you are a philanthropist?"

" There again ! Another stick of the penknife, when she pre-
tended to pat my head : and that is because I said I did not like
the society of children and old women (low be it spoken !). No,
young lady, I am not a general philanthropist; but I bear a
conscience ;" and he pointed to the prominences which are said
to indicate that faculty, and which, fortunately for him, were suf-
ficiently conspicuous ; giving, indeed, a marked breadth to the
upper part of his head: "and, besides, I once had a kind of
rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as you, I was a
feeling fellow enough ; partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and
unlucky ; but fortune has knocked me about since : she has even
kneaded me with her knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am
hard and tough as an Indian-rubber ball ; pervious, though,
through a chink or two still, and with one sentient point in the
middle of the lump. Yes : does that leave hope for me ?"

" Hope of what, sir ?"

" Of my final re-transformation from Indian-rubber back to
flesh?"

" Decidedly he has had too much wine," I thought ; and I did
not know what answer to make to his queer question : how
could I tell whether he was capable of being re-transformed ?

" You look very much puzzled, Miss Eyre ; and though you are
not pretty any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air be-
comes you ; besides it is convenient, for it keeps those searching
eyes of yours away from my physiognomy, and busies them with
the worsted flowers of the rug ; so puzzle on. Young lady, I am
disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night."

With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood,
leaning his arm on the marble mantelpiece : in that attitude his
shape was seen plainly as well as his face ; his unusual breadth
of chest, disproportionate almost to his length of limb. I am
sure most people would have thought him an ugly man ; yet there
was so much unconscious pride in his port ; so much ease in his
demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to his own

JANE EYRE. 113

external appearance ; so haughty a reliance on the power of other
qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere
personal attractiveness, that, in looking at him, one inevitably
shared the indifference, and, even in a blind, imperfect sense,
put faith in the confidence.

"lam disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night,"
he repeated, "and that is why I sent for you; the fire and the
chandelier were not sufficient company for me; nor would Pilot
have been, for none of these can talk. Adele is a degree better,
but still far below the mark ; Mrs. Fairfax ditto ; you, I am per-
suaded, can suit me if you will ; you puzzled me the first evening
I invited you down here. I have almost forgotten you since :
other ideas have driven yours from my head, but to-night I am
resolved to be at ease : to dismiss what importunes, and recall
what pleases. It would please me now to draw you out — to
learn more of you — therefore speak."

Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent or
submissive smile either.

"Speak," he urged.

"What about, sir?"

" Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and
the manner of treating it entirely to yourself."

Accordingly I sat and said nothing. "If he expects me to
talk for the mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he
has addressed himself to the wrong person," I thought.

" You are dumb, Miss Eyre."

I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and
with a single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes.

" Stubborn ?" he said, " and annoyed. Ah, it is consistent. I

fut my request in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre,
beg your pardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to
treat you like an inferior : that is (correcting himself), I claim
only such superiority as must result from twenty years' difference
in age and a century's advance in experience. This is legitimate,
et j'y tiens, as Adele would say ; and it is by virtue of this super-
iority, and this alone, that I desire you to have the goodness to
talk to me a little now, and divert my thoughts, which are galled
with dwelling on one point — cankering as a rusty nail."

He had deigned an explanation ; almost an apology : I did
not feel insensible to his condescension, and would not seem so.

" I am willing to amuse you if I can, sir — quite wiling ; but I
cannot introduce a topic, because how do I know what will in-
terest you ? Ask me questions, and I will do my best to answer
them."

"Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a
right to be a little masterful, abrupt; perhaps exacting, some-
times, on the grounds I stated : namely, that I am old enough
to be your father, and that I have battled through a varied experi-
ence with many men of many nations, and roamed over half

II

114 JANE EYRE.

the globe, while you have lived quietly with one set of people in
one house."

" Do as you please, sir."

" That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because a
very evasive one. Reply clearly."

" I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely
because you are older than I, or because you have seen more
of the world than I have ; your claim to superiority depends on
the use you have made of your time and experience."

" Humph ! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing
that it would never suit my case ; as I have made an indifferent,
not to say a bad, use of both advantages. Leaving superiority
out of the question, then, you must still agree to receive my
orders now and then, without being piqued or hurt by the tone of
command — will you ?"

I smiled. I thought to myself Mr. Rochester is peculiar — he
seems to forget that he pays me £$o per annum for receiving his
orders.

" The smile is very well," said he, catching instantly the pass-
ing expression ; " but speak too."

' " I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble them-
selves to inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were
piqued and hurt by their orders."

" Paid subordinates ! What, you are my paid subordinate, are
you ? Oh yes, I had forgotten the salary 1 Well, then, on that
mercenary ground, will you agree to let me hector a little ?"

" No, sir, not on that ground : but on the ground that you did
forget it, and that you care whether or not a dependent is com-
fortable in his dependency, I agree heartily."
< "And will you consent to dispense with a great many conven-
tional forms and phrases, without thinking that the omission
arises from insolence ?"

" I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for insol-
ence : one I rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit
to, even for a salary."

" Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for
a salary; therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture on gener-
alities of which you are intensely ignorant. However, I mentally
shake hands with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy ;
and as much for the manner in which it was said, as for the
substance of the speech : the manner was frank and sincere ;
one does not often see such a manner ; no, on the contrary,
affectation, or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehen-
sion of one's meaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not
three in three thousand raw school-girl-governesses would have
answered me as you have just done. But I don't mean to flatter
you. If you are cast in a different mould to the majority, it is
no merit of yours : Nature did it. And then, after all, I go too
fast in my conclusions : for what I yet know, you may be no

JANE EYRE. U5

better than the rest; you may have intolerable detects to counter-
balance your few good points."

"And so may you," I thought. My eye met his as the idea
crossed my mind : he seemed to read the glance, answering as if
its import had been spoken as well as imagined :

"Yes, yes, you are right," said he. " I have plenty of faults
of my own ; I know it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure
you. God wot, I need not be too severe about others ; I have a
past existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate
within my own breast, which might well call my sneers and cen-
sures from my neighbours to myself. I started, or rather (for,
like other defaulters, I like to lay half the blame on ill-fortune
and adverse circumstances) was thrust, on to a wrong tack, at
the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the right
course since. But I might have been very different ; I might
have been as good as you — wiser — almost as stainless. I envy
you your peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted
memory. Little girl, a memory without blot or contamination
must be an exquisite treasure — an inexhaustible source of pure
refreshment: is it not?"

" How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir ?"
" All right then ; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water
had turned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen —
quite your equal. Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good
man, Miss Eyre, one of the better end ; and you see I am not so.
You would say you don't see it : at least I flatter myself I read
as much in your eye (beware, by-the-by, what you express with
that organ, I am quick at interpreting its language). Then take
my word for it — I am not a villain, you are not to suppose that —
not to attribute to me any such bad eminence ; but owing, I
verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I
am a trite common-place sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty
dissipations with which the rich and worthless try to put on life.
Do you wonder that I avow this to you ? Know, that in the
course of your future life you will often find yourself elected the
involuntary confidant of your acquaintances' secrets : people will
instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte tc
tell of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves ; they
will feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of their
indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy, not the less
comforting and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its
manifestations."
" How do you know ? — how can you guess all this, sir ?"
" I know it well ; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I were
writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have
been superior to circumstances : so I should — so I should ; but
you see I was not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wis-
dom to remain cool : I turned desperate ; then I degenerated.
Now, when any vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry
ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than he : I am

Il6 JANE EYRE.

forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I wish I had
stood firm — God knows I do ! Dread remorse when you are
tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life."

" Repentance is said to be its cure, sir."

"It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure ; and I could
reform — I have strength yet for that — if — but where is the use of
thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am ? Besides,
since happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get
pleasure out of life : and I will get it, cost what it may."

"Then you will degenerate still more, sir."

"Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh plea-
sure ? And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the
bee gathers on the moor."

" It will sting — it will taste bitter, sir."

" How do you know ? — you never tried it. How very serious —
how very solemn you look ; and you are as ignorant of the matter
as this cameo head" (taking one from the mantelpiece). "You
have no right to preach to me, you neophyte, that have not
passed the porch of life, and are absolutely unacquainted with its
mysteries."

"I only remind you of your own words, sir; you said error
brought remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of
existence."

" And who talks of error now ? I scarcely think the notion that
fluttered across my brain was an error. 1 believe it was an in-
spiration rather than a temptation ; it was very genial, very
soothing — I know that. Here it comes again ! It is no devil, I
assure you ; or if it be, it has put on the robes of an angel of
light. I think I must admit so fair a guest when it asks entrance
to my heart."

" Distrust it, sir ; it is not a true angel."

" Once more, how do you know ? By what instinct do you
pretend to distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a
messenger from the eternal throne — between a guide and a
seducer?"

" I judged by your countenance, sir ; which was troubled when
you said the suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it
will work you more misery if you listen to it."

" Not at all — it bears the most gracious message in the world :
for the rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make
yourself uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!"

He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but
his own ; then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on
his chest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible
being.

" Now," he continued, again addressing me, " I have received
the pilgrim — a disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it
has done me good : my heart was a sort of charnel ; it will now
be a shrine."

"To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot

JANE EYRE. 117

keep up the conversation, because it has got out of my depth.
Only one thing I know : you said you were not as gooa as you
should like to l)e, and that you regretted your own imperfection :
one thing I can comprehend? you intimated that to have a
sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seems to me, that if
you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to become what
you yourself would approve ; and that if from this day you began
with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would
in a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollec-
tions, to which you might revert with pleasure."

"Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this
moment, I am paving hell with energy."

"Sir?"

"lam laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as
flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than
they have been."

"And better?"

"And better — so much better as pure ore is than foul dross.
You seem to doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my
aim is, what my motives are; and at this moment I pass a
law, unalterable as that of the Medes and Persians, that both
are right."

"They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise
them."

"They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new
statute: unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand
unheard-of rules."

" That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see
at once that it is liable to abuse."

"Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household
gods not to abuse it."

" You are human and fallible."

"lam: so are you — what then ?"

"The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with
which the divine and perfect alone can be safely entrusted."

"What power?"

" That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action —
' Let it be right.' r '

"'Let it be right* — the very words: you have pronounced
them."

" May it be right then," I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to
continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and,
besides, sensible that the character of my interlocutor was
beyond my penetration ; at least, beyond its present reach ; and
feeling the uncertainty, the vague sense of insecurity, which
accompanies a conviction of ignorance."

" Where are you going?"

"To put Adele to bed : it is past her bed-time."

" You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphinx."

Il8 JANE EYRE.

"Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am
bewildered, I am certainly not afraid."

" You are afraid— your self-love dreads a blunder."

" In that sense I do feel apprehensive — I have no wish to talk
nonsense."

"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I
should mistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre ?
Don't trouble yourself to answer — I see you laugh rarely; but
you can laugh very merrily : believe me, you are not naturally
austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood
constraint still clings to you somewhat ; controlling your
features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs ; and
you fear in the presence of a man and a brother — or father, or
master, or what you will— to smile too gaily, speak too freely,
or move too quickly ; but, in time, I think you will learn to be
natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with
you ; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity
and variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the
glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-bars of a cage :
a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it
would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?"

" It has struck nine, sir."

" Never mind— wait a minute : Adele is not ready to go to bed
yet. My position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my
face to the room, favours observation. While talking to you, I
have also occasionally watched Adele (I have my own reasons
for thinking her a curious study — reasons that I may — nay that I
shall — impart to you some day ;) she pulled out of her box, about
ten minutes ago, a little pink silk frock ; rapture lit her face as
she^ unfolded it; coquetry runs in her blood, blends with her
brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones. ' II faut que je
l'essaie!' cried she ; ' et a l'instant meme !' and she rushed out
of the room. She is now with Sophie, undergoing a robing
process : and in a few minutes she will re-enter ; and I know
what I shall see — a miniature of Celine Varens, as she used to

appear on the boards at the rising of : but never mind that.

However, my tenderest feelings are about to receive a shock:
such is my presentiment ; stay now, to see whether it will be
realised."

Ere long, Adele* s little foot was heard tripping across the hall.
She entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A
dress of rose-coloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as
it could be gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously
worn ; a wreath of rosebuds circled her forehead ; her feet were
dressed in silk stockings and small white satin sandals.

" Est-ce que ma robe va bien ?" cried she, bounding forwards ;
" et mes souliers ? et mes bas ? Tenez, je crois que je vais
danser !"

And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across the room ;
till, having reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled lightly round

JANE EYRE. H9

before him on tip-toe, then dropped on one knee at his feet,
exclaiming :

" Monsieur, je vous remercie raille fois de votre bont6; M then
rising-, she added, "C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-
ce pas, monsieur?"

"Pre-cise-ly!" was the answer; "and 'comme cela/ she
charmed my English gold out of my breeches' pocket. I have
- been green, too, Miss Eyre — ay, grass green : not a more vernal
tint freshens you now than once freshened me. My Spring is
gone, however, but it has left me that French floweret on my
hands, which, in smooth moods, I would fain be rid of. ^ Not
valuing now the root whence it sprang, having found that it was
of a sort which nothing but gold dust could manure, I have but
half a liking to the blossom, especially when it looks so artificial
as just now. I keep it and rear it rather on the Roman Catholic
principle of expiating numerous sins, great or small, by one good
work. I'll explain all this some day. Good-night."

CHAPTER XV.

MR. ROCHESTER did, on a future occasion, explain it
It was one afternoon, when he chanced to meet me and
Adele in the grounds ; and while she played with Pilot and her
shuttlecock, he asked me to walk up and down a long beech
avenue within sight of her.

He then said that she was the daughter of a French opera
dancer, Celine Varens, towards whom he had once cherished
what he called a "grande passion." This passion C61ine had
professed to return with even superior ardour. He thought him-
self her idol, ugly as he was ; he believed, as he said, that she
g referred his "taille d'athlete" to the elegance of the Apollo
lelvidere. *

"And, Miss Eyre, so much was I flattered by this preference
of the Gallic sylph for her British gnome, that I installed her in
an hotel, gave her a complete establishment of sen-ants, a
carriage, cashmeres, diamonds, dentclles, &c. In short, I
began the process of ruining myself in the received style, like
any other spoony. I had not, it seems, the originality to chalk
out a new road to shame and destruction, but trod the old track
with stupid exactness, not to deviate an inch from the beaten
centre. I had — as I deserved to have— the fate of all other
spoonies. Happening to call one evening when Celine did not
expect me, I found her out ; but it was a warm night, and I was
tired with strolling through Paris, so I sat down m her boudoir,
happy to breathe the air consecrated so lately by her presence.
No -I exaggerate; I never thought there was any consecrating
virtue about her: it was rather a sort of pastille perfume she

120 JANE EYRE.

had left — a scent of musk and amber, than an odour of sanctity.
I was just beginning- to stifle with the fumes of conservatory
flowers and sprinkled essences, when I bethought myself to
open the window and step out on to the balcony. It was moon-
light, and gaslight besides, and very still and serene. The
balcony was furnished with a chair or two ; I sat down, took out
a cigar — I will take one now, if you will excuse me."

Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting
of a cigar ; having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of
Havannah incense on the freezing and sunless air, he went on :

"I liked bonbons, too, in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was
croquant (overlook the barbarism) — croquant chocolate comfits,
and smoking alternately, watching meantime the equipages that
rolled along the fashionable streets towards the neighbouring
opera-house, when in an elegant close carriage, drawn by a
beautiful pair of English horses, and distinctly seen in the
brilliant city-night, I recognised the ' voiture ' I had given
Celine. She was returning : of course my heart thumped with
impatience against the iron rails I leant upon. The carriage
stopped, as I had expected, at the hotel door ; my flame (that
is the very word for an opera inamorata) alighted : though
muffled in a cloak — an unnecessary encumbrance, by-the-by, on
so warm a June evening — I knew her instantly by her little foot,
seen peeping from the skirt of her dress, as she skipped from the
carriage- step. Bending over the balcony, I was about to mur-
mur, ' Mon ange !' — in a tone, of course, which should be audible
to the ear of love alone — when a figure jumped from the carriage
after her ; cloaked also ; but that was a spurred heel which had
rung on the pavement, and that was a hatted head which now
passed under the arched porte cochhre of the hotel.

" You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre ? Of course not :
I need not ask you ; because you never felt love. You have both
sentiments yet to experience : your soul sleeps ; the shock is yet
to be given which shall waken it. You think all existence lapses
in as quiet a flow as that in which your youth has hitherto
slid away. Floating on with closed eyes and muffled ears, you
neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the bed of the flood,
nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tell you— and
you mark my words — you will come some day to a craggy pass
of the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken
up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be
dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by
some master wave into a calmer current — as I am now.

" 1 like this day : I like that sky of steel ; I like the sternness
and stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield ; its
antiquity ; its retirement ; its old crow-trees and thorn-trees ; its
grey facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal
welkin : and yet how long have I abhorred the very thought of
it ; shunned it like a great plague-house ! How I do still
abhor "

JANE EYRE. 121

He ground his teeth and was silent : he arrested his step and
struck his boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought
seemed to have him in its grip, and to hold him so tightly that
he could not advance.

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused ; the hall
was before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over
them a glare such as I never saw before or since. Pain, shame,
ire— impatience, disgust, detestation— seemed momentarily to
hold a quivering conflict in the large pupil dilating under his
ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should be para-
mount ; but another feeling rose and triumphed : something hard
and cynical; self-willed and resolute : it settled his passion and
petrified his countenance : he went on :

" During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging
a point with my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk—
a hag like one of those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath
of Forres. * You like Thornfield ?' she said, lifting her finger ;
and then she wrote in the air a memento, which ran in lurid
hieroglyphics all along the house-front, between the upper and
lower row of windows. 'Like it if you can!' 'Like it if you
dare!'

"•I will like it,' said I. 'I dare like it;' and (he subjoined
moodily) I will keep my word : I will break obstacles to happi-
ness, to goodness — yes, goodness; I wish to be a better man
than I have been; than I am — as Job's leviathan broke the
spear, the dart, and the habergeon, hinderances which others
count as iron and brass, I will esteem but straw and rotten
wood."

Adele here ran before him with her shuttlecock. " Away !" he
cried harshly ; " keep at a distance, child ; or go in to Sophie !"
Continuing then to pursue his walk in silence, I ventured to call
him to the point whence he had abruptly diverged :

" Did you leave the balcony, sir," I asked, "when Mdlle.
Varens entered?"

I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question :
but, on the contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he
turned his eyes towards me, and the shade seemed to clear off
his brow. "Oh, I had forgotten Celine! Well, to resume.
When I saw my charmer thus come in accompanied by a cava-
lier, I seemed to hear a hiss, and the green snake of jealousy,
rising on undulating coils from the moonlit balcony, glided within
my waistcoat, and ate its way in two minutes to my heart's core.
Strange?" he exclaimed, suddenly starting away from the point.
" Strange that I should choose you for the confidante of all this,
young lady: passing strange, that you should listen to me
quietly, as if it were the most usual thing in the world for a man
hke me to tell stories of his opera-mistresses to a quaint, inex-
perienced £irl like you! But the last singularity explains the
first, as I intimated once before : you, with your gravity, con-
6iderateness, and caution, were made to be the recipient of

122 JANE EYRE.

secrets. Besides, I know what sort of a mind I have placed in
communication with my own : I know it is one not liable to take
infection : it is a peculiar mind ; it is an unique one. Happily I
do not mean to harm it : but, if I did, it would not take harm
from me. The more you and I converse, the better ; for while I
cannot blight you, you may refresh me." After this digression
he proceeded :

" I remained in the balcony. ' They will come to her boudoir,
no doubt,' thought I : 'let me prepare an ambush.' So putting
my hand in through the open window, I drew the curtain over it,
leaving only an opening through which I could take observa-
tions ; then I closed the casement, all but a chink just wide
enough to furnish an outlet to lovers' whispered vows : then I
stole back to my chair, and as I resumed it the pair came in.
My eye was quickly at the aperture. Celine's chambermaid
entered, lit a lamp, left it on the table, and withdrew. The
couple were thus revealed to me clearly: both removed their
cloaks ; and there was ' the Varens,' shining in satin and jewels
— my gifts of course — and there was her companion in an officer's
uniform ; and I knew him for a young roue of a vicomte — a brain-
less and vicious youth, whom I had sometimes met in society,
and had never thought of hating because I despised him so
absolutely. On recognising him, the fang of the snake, jealousy,
was instantly broken, because at the same moment my love for
Celine sank under an extinguisher. A woman who could betray
me for such a rival was not worth contending for : she deserved
only scorn — less, however, than I, who had been her dupe.

" They began to talk : their conversation eased me completely
— frivolous, mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rather
calculated to weary than enrage a listener. A card of mine lay
on the table : this being perceived brought my name under dis-
cussion. Neither of them possessed energy or wit to belabour
me soundly : but they insulted me as coarsely as they could in
their little way — especially Celine, who even waxed rather
brilliant on my personal defects, deformities she termed them.
Now it had been her custom to launch out into fervent admiration
of what she called my 'beaute" male:' wherein she differed
diametrically from you, who told me point blank, at the second
interview that you did not think me handsome. The contrast
struck me at the time, and "

Adele here came running up again.

"Monsieur, John has just been to say that your agent has
called and wishes to see you."

"Ah! in that case I must abridge. Opening the window, I
walked in upon them : liberated Celine from my protection ; gave
her notice to vacate her hotel ; offered her a purse for immediate
exigencies ; disregarded screams, hysterics, prayers, protesta-
tions, convulsions ; made an appointment with the vicomte for a
meeting at the Bois de Boulogne. Next morning I had the
pleasure of encountering him : left a bullet in one of his poor,

JANE EYRE. 123

etiolated arms, feeble as the wing of a chicken in the pip, and
then thought I had done with the whole crew. But unluckily the
Varens, six months before, had given me this filette Adele ; who,
she affirmed, was my daughter, and perhaps she may be, though
I see no proofs of such grim paternity written in her countenance
—Pilot is more like me than she. Some years after I had broken
with the mother, she abandoned her child and ran away to Italy
with a musician or singer. I acknowledged no natural claim on
Adele's part to be supported by me; nor do I now acknowledge
any, for I am not her father; but hearing that she was quite
destitute, I e'en took the poor thing out of the slime and mud of
Paris, and transplanted it here, to grow up clean in the whole-
some soil of an English country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you
to train it; but now^ou know that it is the illegitimate offspring
of a French opera-girl, you will perhaps think differently of your
post and protegde : you will be coming to me some day with
notice that you have found another place — that you beg me to
look out for a new governess, &c. — eh ?"

" No : Adele is not answerable for either her mother's faults or
yours : I have a regard for her, and now that I know that she is,
in a sense, parentless — forsaken by her mother and disowned by
you, sir — I shall cling closer to her than before. How could I
possibly prefer the spoilt pet of a wealthy family, who would hate
her governess as a nuisance, to a lonely little orphan, who leans
towards her as a friend ?"

" Oh, that is the light in which you view it 1 Well, I must go
in now; and you too: it darkens."

But I stayed out a few minutes longer with Adele and Pilot —
ran a race with her, and played a game of battledore and shuttle-
cock. When we went in and I had removed her bonnet and
coat, I took her on my knee ; kept her there an hour, allowing
her to prattle as she liked : not rebuking even some little free-
doms and trivialities into which she was apt to stray when much
noticed, and which betrayed in her a superficiality of character,
inherited probably from her mother, hardly congenial to an Eng-
lish mind. Still she had her merits; and I was disposed to
appreciate all that was good in her to the utmost. I sought in
her countenance and features a likeness to Mr. Rochester, but
found none : no trait, no turn of expression, announced relation-
ship. It was a pity : if she could have been proved to resemble
him, he would have thought more of her.

It was not till after I had withdrawn to my own chamber for
the night, that I steadily reviewed the tale Mr. Rochester had
told me. As he had said, there was probably nothing at all
extraordinary in the substance of the narrative itself: a wealthy
Englishman s passion for a French dancer, and her treachery to
him, were every-day matters enough, no doubt, in society; but
there was something decidedly strange in the paroxysm of
emotion which had suddenly seized him, when he was in the act
of expressing the contentment of his mood, and his newly revived

124 JANE EYRE.

pleasure in the old hall and its environs. I meditated wonder-
ingly on this incident : but gradually quitting it, as I found it for
the present inexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my
master's manner to myself. The confidence he had thought fit
to repose in me seemed a tribute to my discretion : I regarded
and accepted it as such. His deportment had now for some
weeks been more uniform towards me than at the first. I never
seemed in his way ; he did not take fits of chilling hauteur :
when he met me unexpectedly, the encounter seemed welcome ;
he had always a word and sometimes a smile for me : when sum-
moned by formal invitation to his presence, I was honoured by a
cordiality of reception that made me feel I really possessed the
power to amuse him, and that these evening conferences, were
sought as much for his pleasure as for my benefit.

I, indeed, talked comparatively little; but I heard him talk
with relish. It was his nature to be communicative ; he liked to
open to a mind unacquainted with the world, glimpses of its
scenes and ways (I do not mean its corrupt scenes and wicked
ways, but such as derived their interest from the great scale on
which they were acted, the strange novelty by which they were
characterised ) ; and I had a keen delight in receiving the new
ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures he portrayed, and
following him in thought through the new regions he disclosed,
never startled or troubled by one noxious allusion.

The ease of his manner freed me from painful restraint : the
friendly frankness, as correct as cordial, with which he treated
me, drew me to him. I felt at times as if he were my relation,
rather than my master : yet he was imperious sometimes still :
but I did not mind that ; I saw it was his way. So happy, so
gratified did I become with this new interest added to life, that I
ceased to pine after kindred : my thin crescent-destiny seemed
to enlarge ; the blanks of existence were filled up ; my bodily
health improved; I gathered flesh and strength.

And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes ? No, reader :
gratitude, and many associations, all pleasurable and genial,
made his face the object I best liked to see ; his presence in a
room was more cheering than the brightest fire. Yet I had not
forgotten his faults : indeed, I could not, for he brought them
frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh to inferior-
ity of every description : in my secret soul I knew that his great
kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others.
He was moody, too ; unaccountably so : I more than once, when
sent for to read to him, found him sitting in his library alone,
with his head bent on the folded arms ; and, when he looked up,
a morose, almost a malignant scowl, blackened his features.
But I believed that his moodiness, his harshness, and his former
faults of morality (I say former, for now he seemed corrected of
them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. I believed he
was naturally a man of better tendencies, higher principles, and
purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed, educa-

JANE EYRE. 125

tion instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were
excellent materials in him; though for the present they hung
together somewhat spoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that I
grieved for his grief, whatever that was, and would have given
much to assuage it.

Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down
in bed, I could not sleep, for thinking of his look when he paused
in the avenue, and told how his destiny had risen up before him,
and dared him to be happy at Thornfield.

" Why not ?" I asked myself. " What alienates him from the
house ? Will he leave it again soon ? Mrs. Fairfax said he
seldom stayed here longer than a fortnight at a time ; and he has
now been resident eight weeks. If he does go, the change will
be doleful. Suppose he should be absent, spring, summer, and
autumn : how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem 1"

I hardly know whether I had slept or not after this musing ;
at any rate, I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur,
peculiar and lugubrious, which sounded, I thought, just above
me. I wished I had kept my candle burning; the night was
drearily dark ; my spirits were depressed. I rose and sat up in
bed, listening. The sound was hushed.

I tried again to sleep ; but my heart beat anxiously : my
inward tranquillity was broken. The clock, far down in the hall,
struck two. Just then it seemed my chamber-door was touched ;
as if fingers had swept the panels in groping away along the dark
gallery outside. I said, "Who is there?" Nothing answered.
I was chilled with fear.

All at once I remembered that it might be Pilot : who, when
the kitchen door chanced to be left open, not unfrequently found
his way up to the threshold of Mr. Rochester's chamber: I had
seen him lying there myself in the mornings. The idea calmed
me somewhat : I lay down. Silence composes the nerves ; and
as an unbroken hush now reined again through the whole house,
I began to feel the return of slumber. But it was not fated that I
should sleep that night. A dream had scarcely approached my
ear, when it fled affrighted, scared by a marrow-freezing
incident enough.

This was a demoniac laugh — low, suppressed, and deep-
uttered, as it seemed, at the very key-hole of my chamber door.
The head of my bed was near the door, and I thought at first the
goblin-laugher stood at my bedside — or rather, crouched by my
pillow : but I rose, looked round, and could see nothing ; while,
as I still gazed, the unnatural sound was reiterated : and I knew
it came from behind the panels. My first impulse was to rise
and fasten the bolt ; my next, again to cry out, —

"Who is there?"

Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps retreated up
the gallery towards the third story staircase : a door had lately
been made to shut in that staircase : 1 heard it open and close,
and all was still.

126 JANE EYRE.

" Was that Grace Poole ? and is she possessed with a devil ?"
thought I. Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must
go to Mrs. Fairfax. I hurried on my frock and a shawl ; I with-
drew the bolt and opened the door with a trembling hand. There
was a candle burning just outside, and on the matting in the
gallery. I was surprised at this circumstance: but still more
was I amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with
smoke ; and, while looking to the right hand and left, to find
whence these blue wreaths issued, I became further aware of a
strong smell of burning.

Something creaked : it was a door ajar; and that door was
Mr. Rochester's, and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence.
I thought no more of Mrs. Fairfax ; I thought no more of Grace
Poole or the laugh ; in an instant I was within the chamber.
Tongues of flame darted round the bed: the curtains were on
fire. In the midst of blaze and vapour, Mr. Rochester lay
stretched motionless, in deep sleep.

" Wake ! wake !" I cried — I shook him, but he only murmured
and turned : the smoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could
be lost ; the very sheets were kindling. I rushed to his basin
and ewer : fortunately, one was wide and the other deep, and
both were filled with water. I heaved them up, deluged the bed
and its occupant, flew back to my own room, brought my own
water jug, baptized the couch afresh, and, by God's aid, suc-
ceeded in extinguishing the flames which were devouring it.

The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher
which I flung from my hand when I had emptied it, and, above
all, the splash of the shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused
Mr. Rochester at last. Though it was now dark, I knew he was
awake ; because I heard him fulminating strange anathemas at
finding himself lying in a pool of water.

" Is there a flood ?" he cried.

"No, sir," I answered; " but there has been a fire; get up,
do, you are quenched now: I will fetch you a candle."

" In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane
Eyre?" he demanded. "What have you done with me, witch,
sorceress ? Who is in the room besides you ? Have you plotted
to drown me?"

" I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven's name, get
up. Somebody has plotted something ; you cannot too soon find
out who and what it is."

"There — I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle
yet ; wait two minutes till I get into some dry garments, if any
dry there be— yes, here is my dressing-gown. Now run !"

I did run ; I brought the candle which still remained in the
gallery. He took it from my hand, held it up, and surveyed the
bed, all blackened and scorched, the sheets drenched, the carpet
round swimming in water.

" What is it ? and who did it ?" he asked.

I briefly related to him what had transpired, the strange laugh

JANE EYRE. 127

I had heard in the gallery: the step ascending to the third story,
the smoke — the smell of fire which had conducted me to his
room ; in what state I had found matters there, and how I had
deluged him with all the water I could lay hands on.

He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on, expressed
more concern than astonishment ; he did not immediately speak
when I had concluded.

" Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?" I asked.

" Mrs. Fairfax? No: what the deuce would you call her for?
What can she do ? Let her sleep unmolested."

" Then I will fetch Leah, and wake John and his wife."

" Not at all : just be still. You have a shawl on ? If you are
not warm enough, you may take my cloak yonder ; wrap it about
you, and sit down in the arm-chair: there — I will put it on.
Now place your feet on the stool, to keep them out of the wet. I
am going to leave you a few minutes. I shall take the candle.
Remain where you are till I return ; be as still as a mouse. I
must pay a visit to the second story. Don't move, remember, or
call any one."

He went ; I watched the light withdraw. He passed up the
gallery very softly, unclosed the staircase door with as little noise
as possible, shut it after him, and the last ray vanished. I was
left in total darkness. I listened for some noise, but heard
nothing. A very long time elapsed. I grew weary : it was cold,
in spite of the cloak ; and then I did not see the use of staying,
as I was not to rouse the house. I was on the point of risking
Mr. Rochester's displeasure, by disobeying his orders, when the
light once more gleamed dimly on the gallery wall, and I heard
his unshod feet tread the matting. " I hope it is he," thought I,
" and not something worse."

He re-entered, pale and very gloomy.

** I have found it all out," said he, setting his candle down on
the washstand ; " it is as I thought."

"How, sir?"

He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded, looking on
the ground. At the end of a few minutes, he inquired in rather a
peculiar tone :

" I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened
your chamber door."

" No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground."

" But you heard an odd laugh ? You have heard that laugh
before, I should think, or something ljke-it."

"Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace
Poole — she laughs in that way. She is a singular person."

" Just so. Grace Poole — you have guessea it. She is, as you
say, singular— very. Well, 1 shall reflect on the subject. Mean-
time, I am glad that you are the only person, besides myself, ac-
quainted with the precise details of to-night's incident. You are
no talking fool : say nothing about it. I will account for this
state of affairs (pointing to the bed) : and now return to your own

128 JANE EYRE.

room. I shall do very well on the sofa in the library for the rest
of the night. It is near four — in two hours the servants will be

U P-"

"Good-night, then, sir," said I, departing.

He seemed surprised — very inconsistently so, as he had just
told me to go.

" What !" he exclaimed, " are you quitting me already, and in
that way."

"You said I might go, sir."

" But not without taking leave ; not without a word or two of
acknowledgment and goodwill : not, in short, in that brief, dry
fashion. Why, you have saved my life ! — snatched me from a
horrible and excruciating death ! — and you walk past me as if we
were mutual strangers ! At least shake hands."

He held out his hand ; I gave him mine : he took it first in
one, then in both his own.

"You have saved my life; I have a pleasure in owing you so
immense a debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has
being would have been tolerable to me in the character of creditor
for such an obligation : but you ; it is different — I feel your
benefits no burden, Jane."

He paused, gazed at me ; words almost visible trembled on his
lips — but his voice was checked.

" Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden,
obligation, in the case."

"I knew," he continued, "you would do me good in some
way, at some time — I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you,
their expression and smile did not — (again he stopped) — did not
(he proceeded hastily) strike delight to my very inmost heart so
for nothing. People talk of natural sympathies ; I have heard
of good genii ; there are grains of truth in the wildest fable.
My cherished preserver, good-night!"

Strange energy was in his voice ; strange fire in his look.

" 1 am glad I happened to be awake," I said, and then I was
going.

"What ! you will go ?"

"I am cold, sir."

" Cold ? Yes, — and standing in a pool ! Go then, Jane, go !"
But he still retained my hand, and I could not free it. I be-
thought myself of an expedient.

" I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir," said I.

" Well, leave me;" he refaxed his fingers, and I was gone.

I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till morn-
ing dawned I was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where
billows of trouble rolled under surges of joy. I thought some-
times I saw beyond its wild waters a shore, sweet as the hills of
Beulah ; and now and then a freshening gale wakened by hope,
bore my spirit triumphantly towards the bourne ; but I could not
reach it, even in fancy — a counteracting breeze blew off land,

JANE EYRE. 129

and continually drove me back. Sense would resist delirium ;
judgment would warn passion. Too feverish to rest, I rose as
soon as day dawned.

CHAPTER XVI.

I BOTH wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the dav
which followed this sleepless night; I wanted to hear his
voice again, yet feared to meet his eye. During the early part
of the morning, I momentarily expected his coming ; he was not
in the frequent habit of entering the schoolroom ; but he did step
in for a few minutes sometimes, and I had the impression that he
was sure to visit it that day.

But the moming passed just as usual : nothing happened to
interrupt the quiet course of Adele's studies; only, soon after
breakfast, I heard some bustle in the neighbourhood of Mr.
Rochester's chamber, Mrs. Fairfax's voice, and Leah's, and the
cook's — that is, John's wife — and even John's own gruff tones.
There were exclamations of "What a mercy master was not
burnt in his bed!" "It is always dangerous to keep a candle
lit at night." " How providential that he had presence of mind
to think of the water-jug!" " I wonder he waked nobody !" " It
is to be hoped he will not take cold with sleeping on the library
sofa," &c.

To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and
setting to rights ; and when I passed the room, in going down-
stairs to dinner, I saw through the open door that all was again
restored to complete order; only the bed was stripped of its
hangings. Leah stood up in the window-seat, rubbing the panes
of glass dimmed with smoke. I was about to address her, for I
wished to know what account had been given of the affair; but,
on advancing, I saw a second person in the chamber— a woman
sitting on a chair by the bedside, and sewing rings to new cur-
tains. That woman was no other than Grace Poole.

There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her
brown stuff gown, her check apron, white handkerchief and cap.
She was intent on her work, in which her whole thoughts seemed
absorbed ; on her hard forehead, and in her commonplace fea-
tures, was nothing either of the paleness ot desperation one
would have expected to see marking the countenance of a woman
who had attempted murder; and whose intended victim had
followed her last night to her lair, and (as I believed) charged
her with the crime she wished to perpetrate. I was amazed-
confounded. She looked up, while I still gazed at her: no start,
no increase or failure of colour betrayed emotion, consciousness
of guilt, or fear of detection. She said, " Good-morning, Miss,"
in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner, and taking up another
ring and more tape, went on with her sewing.

I

130 JANE EYRE.

"I will put her to some test," thought I, "such absolute
impenetrability is past comprehension."

"Good-morning, Grace," I said. "Has anything happened
here? I thought I heard the servants all talking together a
while ago."

" Only master had been reading in his bed last night, he fell
asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire: but,
fortunately, he awoke before the bedclothes or the wood-work
caught, and contrived to quench the flame with the water in the
ewer."

"A strange affair!" I said, in a low voice: then, looking at
her fixedly —

"Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him
move?"

She again raised her eyes to me, and this time there was some-
thing of consciousness in their expression. She seemed to
examine me warily. Then she answered :

" The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not
be likely to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest
to master's; but Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing; when
people get elderly, they often sleep heavy." She paused, and
then added, with a sort of assmued indifference, but still in a
marked and significant tone, "But you are young, Miss, and I
should say a light sleeper, perhaps you may have heard a
noise?"

"I did," said I, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was
still polishing the panes, could not hear me; "and at first I
thought it was Pilot, but Pilot cannot laugh ; and I am certain I
heard a laugh, and a strange one."

She took a new needleful of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded
her needle with a steady hand, and then observed with perfect
composure :

" It is hardly likely master would laugh, I should think, Miss,
when he was in such danger: you must have been dreaming."

"I was not dreaming," I said, with some warmth, for her
brazen coolness provoked me. Again she looked at me, and
with the same scrutinising and conscious eye.

"Have you told master that you heard a laugh?" she
inquired.

" I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this
morning."

"You did not think of opening your door and looking out into
the gallery ?" she further asked.

She appeared to be cross-questioning me ; attempting to draw
from me information unawares. The idea struck me that if she
discovered I knew or suspected her guilt, she would be playing
off some of her malignant pranks on me ; I thought it advisable
to be on my guard.

" On the contrary, ".said 1, " I bolted my door."

JANE EYRE. I3I

"Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every
night before you get into bed ?"

" Fiend ! she wants to know ray habits, that she may lay her
plans accordingly 1" Indignation again prevailed over prudence :
I replied sharply, " Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the
bolt ; I did not think it necessary. I was not aware any danger
or annoyance was to be dreaded at Thornfield Hall; but in
future" (and I laid marked stress on the words) "I shall take
good care to make all secure before I venture to lie down."

" It will be wise so to do," was her answer. " The neighbour-
hood is as quiet as any I know, and I never heard of the hall
being attempted by robbers since it was a house, though there
are hundreds of pounds worth of plate in the plate-closet, as is
well known. And you see, for such a large house, there are
very few servants, because master has never lived here much ;
and when he does come, being a bachelor, he needs little
waiting- on ; but I always think it best to err on the safe side ; a
door is soon fastened, and it is as well to have a drawn bolt
between one and any mischief that may be about. A deal of
people, Miss, are for trusting all to Providence; but I say Provi-
dence will not dispense with the means, though He often blesses
them when used discreetly." And here she closed her
harangue, a long one for her, and uttered with the demurencss of
a Quakeress.

I stood absolutely dumfounded at what appeared to me her
miraculous self-possession and most inscrutable hypocrisy, when
the cook entered.

"Mrs. Pool," said she, addressing Grace, "the servants'
dinner will soon be ready : will you come down?"

" No ; just rnit my pint of porter and bit of pudding on a tray,
and I'll carry it upstairs."

"You'll have some meat?"

"Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all."

"And the sago?"

" Never mind it, at present ; I shall be coming down before
tea-time: I'll make it myself."

The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was
waiting* for me : so I departed.

I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the curtain confla-
gration during dinner, so much was I occupied in puzzling my
brains over the enigmatical character of Grace Poole : and still
more in pondering the problem of her position at Thornfield:
in questioning why she had not been £iven into custody that
morning; or, at the very least, dismissed from her master's
service. He had almost as much as declared his conviction of
her criminality last night : what mysterious cause withheld him
from accusing her? Why had he enjoined me too to secrecy?
It was strange: a bold, vindictive, and haughty gentleman
seemed somehow in the power of one of the meanest of his
dependents ; so much in her power, that even when she lifted her

132 JANE EYRE.

hand against his life, he dared not openly charge her with the
attempt, much less punish her for it.

Had Grace been young and handsome, I should have been
tempted to think that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear
influenced Mr. Rochester in her behalf; but, hard-favoured and
matronly as she was, the idea could not be admitted. "Yet,"
I reflected, " she has been young once ; her youth would be con-
temporary with her master's: Mrs. Fairfax told me once, she
had lived here many years. I don't think she can ever have
been pretty ; but for aught I know she may possess originality
and strength of character to compensate for the want of per-
sonal advantages. Mr. Rochester is an amateur of the decided
and eccentric : Grace is eccentric at least. What if a former
caprice (a freak very possible to a nature so sudden and head-
strong as his) has delivered him into her power, and she now
exercises over his actions a secret influence, the result of his
own indiscretion, which he cannot shake off, and dare not disre-
gard ?" But, having reached this point of conjecture, Mrs.
Poole's square, flat figure, and uncomely, dry, even coarse face,
recurred so distinctly to my mind's eye, that I thought, " No ;
impossible! my supposition cannot be correct. Yet," suggested
the secret voice which talks to us in our own hearts, "you are
not beautiful either, and perhaps Mr. Rochester approves you :
at any rate, you have often felt as if he did ; and last night —
remember his words ; remember his look ; remember his voice 1"

I well remembered all : language, glance, and tone seemed at
the moment vividly renewed. 1 was now in the schoolroom ;
Adele was drawing ; I bent over her and directed her pencil.
She looked up with a sort of start.

" Qu'avez-vous, mademoiselle?" said she. "Vos doigts
tremblent corarac la feuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais,
rouges comme des cerises !"

" I am hot, Adele, with stooping!" She went on sketching, I
went on thinking.

I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been
conceiving respecting Grace Poole : it disgusted me. I com-
pared myself with her, and found we were different. Bessie
Leaven had said I was quite a lady ; and she spoke truth : I
was a lady. And now I looked much better than I did when
Bessie saw me : I had more colour and more flesh ; more life,
more vivacity: because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoy-
ments.

" Evening approaches," said I, as I looked towards the win-
dow. " I have never heard Mr. Rochester's voice or step in the
house to-day ; but surely I shall see him before night : I feared
the meeting in the morning : now I desired ^it, because expecta-
tion has been so long baffled that it is grown impatient."

When dusk actually closed, and when Adele left me to go and
play in the nursery with Sophie, I did most keenly desire it. I
listened for the bell to ring below ; I listened for Leah coming

JANE EYRE. 133

up with a message; I fancied sometimes I heard Mr. Rochester's
own tread, and 1 turned to the door, expecting it to open and
admit him. The door remained shut: darkness only came in
through the window. Still it was not late : he often sent for me
at seven and eight o'clock, and it was yet but six. Surely I
should not be wholly disappointed to-night, when I had so many
things to say to him ! I wanted again to introduce the subject
of Grace Poole, and to hear what he would answer ; I wanted to
ask him plainly if he really believed it was she who had made
last night's hideous attempt; and if so, why he kept her
wickedness a secret. It little mattered whether my curiosity
irritated him : I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him
by turns ; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sure instinct
always prevented me from going too far: beyond the verge of
provocation I never ventured ; on the extreme brink I liked well
to try my skill. Retaining every minute form of respect, every
propriety of my station, I could still meet him in argument with-
out fear or uneasy restraint : this suited both him and me.

A tread creaked on the stairs at last ; Leah made her appear-
ance ; but it was only to intimate that tea was ready in Mrs.
Fairfax's room. Thither I repaired, glad at least to go down-
stairs; for that brought me, I imagined, nearer to Mr.
Rochester's presence.

"You must want your tea," said the good lady, as I joined
her; "you ate so little at dinner. I am afraid," she continued,
"you are not well to-day: you look flushed and feverish."

"Oh, quite well 1 I never felt better."

"Then you must prove it by evincing a good appetite; will
you fill the tea-pot while I knit off this needle?" Having com-
pleted her task, she rose to draw down the blind which she had
hitherto kept up; by way, I suppose, of making the most of
daylight : though dusk was now fast deepening into total
obscurity.

"It is fair to-night," said she, as she looked through the
panes, " though not starlight; Mr. Rochester has, on the whole,
had a favourable day for his journey."

"Journey! Is Mr. Rochester gone anywhere? I did not
know he was out."

" Oh, he set off the moment he had breakfasted 1 He is gone
to the Leas ; Mr. Eshton's place, ten miles on the other side
Millcote ; I believe there is quite a party assembled there ; Lord
Ingram, Sir George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and others."

" Do you expect him back to-night ?"

" No— nor to-morrow either; I should think he is very likely to
stay a week or more : when these fine, fashionable people get
together, they are so surrounded by elegance and gaiety ; so
well provided with all that can please and entertain, they are in
no hurry to separate. Gentlemen, especially, ^ are often in
request on such occasions; and Mr. Rochester is so talented
and so lively in society, that I believe he is a general favourite :

134 JANE EYRE.

the ladies are very fond of him ; though you would not think his
appearance calculated to recommend him particularly in their
eyes : but I suppose his acquirements and abilities, perhaps his
wealth and good blood, make amends for any little fault cf
look."

" Are there ladies at the Leas ?"

" There are Mrs. Eshton and her three daughters — very ele-
gant young ladies, indeed ; and there are the Honourable
Blanche and Mary Ingram ; most beautiful women, I suppose ;
indeed I have seen Blanche, six or seven years since, when she
was a girl of eighteen. She came here to a Christmas ball and
party Mr. Rochester gave. You should have seen the dining-
room that day — how richly it was decorated, how brilliantly lit
up ! I should think there were fifty ladies and gentlemen
present— all of the first county-families ; and Miss Ingram was
considered the belle of the evening."

" You saw her, you say, Mrs. Fairfax : what was she like ?"

"Yes, I saw her. The dining-room doors were thrown open;
and, as it was Christmas-time, the servants were allowed to
assemble in the hall, to hear some of the ladies sing and play.
Mr. Rochester would have me to come in, and I sat down in a
quiet corner and watched them. I never saw a more splendid
scene : the ladies were magnificently dressed ; most of them — at
least most of the younger ones — looked handsome ; but Miss
Ingram was certainly the queen."

"And what was she like ?"

"Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olive
complexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like
Mr. Rochester's: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels.
And then she had such a fine head of hair ; raven-black, and so
becomingly arranged ; a crown of thick plaits behind, and in
front the longest, the glossiest curls I ever saw. She was
dressed in pure white ; an amber-coloured scarf was passed over
her shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, and des-
cending in long, fringed ends below her knee. She wore an
amber-coloured flower, too, in her hair ; it contrasted well with
the jetty mass of her curls."

" She was greatly admired, of course ?"

"Yes, indeed : and not only for her beauty, but for her accom-
plishments. She was one of the ladies who sang: a gentleman
accompanied her on the piano. She and Mr. Rochester sang a
duet."

" Mr. Rochester ? I was not aware he could sing."

"Oh! he has a fine bass voice, and an excellent taste for
music."

"And Miss Ingram : what sort of a voice had she ?"

" A very rich and powerful one : she sang delightfully ; it was
a treat to listen to her : and she played afterwards. I am no
judge of music, but Mr. Rochester is ; and I heard him say her
execution was remarkably good."

JANE EYRE. 135

"And this beautiful and accomplished lady is not yet
married?"

" It appears not : I fancy neither she nor her sister have very
large fortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates were chiefly entailed,
and the eldest son came in for everything almost."

" But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman has taken
a fancy to her; Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he
not?"

" Oh ! yes. But you see there is a considerable difference in
age : Mr. Rochester is near forty; she is but twenty-five."

"What of that? More unequal matches are made every
day."

"True: yet I should scarcely fancy Mr. Rochester would
entertain an idea of the sort. But you eat nothing : you have
scarcely tasted since you began tea.'

"No: I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have another
cup?"

I was about again to revert to the probability of a union
between Mr. Rochester and the beautiful Blanche; but Adele
came in, and the conversation was turned into another channel.

When once more alone, I renewed the information I had got ;
looked into my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and
endeavoured to bring back with a strict hand such as had been
straying through imagination's boundless and trackless waste,
into the safe fold of common sense.

Arraigned at my own bar. Memory having given her evidence
of the hopes, wishes, sentiments I had been cherishing since last
night — of the general state of mind in which I had indulged for
nearly a fortnight past ; Reason having come forward and told
in her own quiet way, a plain, unvarnished tale, showing how I
had rejected the real, and rabidly devoured the ideal — I
pronounced judgment to this effect :

That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the
breath of life : that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited
herself on sweet lies, and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.

" Vou," I said, "a favourite with Mr. Rochester? You gifted
with the power of pleasing him ? You of importance to him in
any way? Gol your folly sickens me. And you have derived
pleasure from occasional tokens of preference— equivocal tokens,
shown by a gentleman of family, and a man of the world, to a
dependent and a novice. How dared you ? Poor stupid dupe 1
could not self-interest make you wiser? You repeated to your-
self this morning the brief scene of last night ? Cover your face
and be ashamed 1 He said something in praise of your eyes, did
he ? Blind puppy 1 Open their bleared lids and look on your
own accursed senselessness I It does good to no woman to be
flattered by her superior, who cannot possibly intend to marry
her ; and it is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle
within them, which, if unreturned and unknown, must devour the
life that feeds it ; and, if discovered and responded to, must lead,

I36 JANE EYRE

ignis-fatuus-Vike, into miry wilds whence there is no extrica-
tion.

"Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: to-morrow, place
the glass before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faith-
fully ; without softening one defect : omit no harsh line, smooth
away no displeasing irregularity ; write under it, ' Portrait of a
Governess, disconnected, poor, and plain.'

"Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory — you have one pre-
pared in your drawing-box : take your pallette, mix your freshest,
finest, clearest tints ; choose your most delicate camel-hair
pencils ; delineate carefully the loveliest face you can imagine ;
paint it in your softest shades and sweetest hues, according to
the description given by Mrs. Fairfax of Blanche Ingram :
remember the raven ringlets, the Oriental eye — what ! you revert
to Mr. Rochester as a model ! Order ! No snivel ! — no senti-
ment ! — no regret! I will endure only sense and resolution.
Recall the august yet harmonious lineaments, the Grecian neck
and bust: let the round and dazzling arm be visible, and the
delicate hand; omit neither diamond ring nor gold bracelet;
portray faithfully the attire, aerial lace and glistening satin,
graceful scarf and golden rose : call it ' Blanche, an accomplished
lady of rank.'

"Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr.
Rochester thinks well of you, take out these two pictures and
compare them : say, ' Mr. Rochester might probably win that
noble lady's love, if he chose to strive for it ; is it likely he would
waste a serious thought on this indigent and insignificant
plebeian ?' "

" I'll do it," I resolved : and having framed this determination,
I grew calm, and fell asleep.

I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own
portrait in crayons ; and in less than a fortnight I had completed
an ivory miniature of an imaginary Blanche Ingram. It looked
a lovely face enough, and when compared with the real head in
chalk, the contrast was as great as self-control could desire. I
derived benefit from the task : it had kept my head and hands
employed, and had given force and fixedness to the new
impressions I wished to stamp indelibly on my heart.

Ere long, I had reason to congratulate myself on the course of
wholesome discipline to which I had thus forced my feelings to
submit : thanks to it, I was able to meet subsequent occurrences
with a decent calm, which, had they found me unprepared, I
should probably have been unequal to maintain, even externally.

A

CHAPTER XVII.

WEEK passed, and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester ; ten
days, and still he did not come. Mrs. Fairfax said she

JANE EYRE. 137

should not be surprised if he were to go straight from the Leas to
London, and thence to the Continent, and not show his face
again at Thornfield for a year to come : he had not unfrequently
quitted it in a manner quite as abrupt and unexpected. When I
heard this I was beginning to feel a strange chill and failing at
the heart. I was actually permitting myself to experience a
sickening sense of disappointment: but rallying my wits and
recollecting my principles, I at once called my sensations to
order ; and it was wonderful how I got over the temporary blun-
der — how I cleared up the mistake of supposing Mr. Rochester's
movements a matter in which I had any cause to take a vital
interest. Not that I humbled myself by a slavish notion of
inferiority : on the contrary, I just said :

" You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further
than to receive the salary he gives you for teaching his prot6g6e,
and to be grateful for such respectful and kind treatment as, if
you do your duty, you have a right to expect at his hands. Be
sure that is the only tie he seriously acknowledges between you
and him : so don't make him the object of your fine feelings,
your raptures, agonies, and so forth. He is not of your order:
keep to your caste ; and be too self-respecting to lavish the love
of the whole heart, soul, and strength, where such a gift is not
wanted, and would be despised."

I went on with my day's business tranquilly ; but ever and anon
vague suggestions kept wandering across my brain of reasons
why I should quit Thornfield ; and I kept involuntarily framing
advertisements and pondering conjectures about new situations :
these thoughts I did not think it necessary to check ; they might
germinate and bear fruit if they could.

Mr. Rochester had been absent upwards of a fortnight, when
the post brought Mrs. Fairfax a letter.

"It is from the master," said she, as she looked at the direc-
tion. " Now I suppose we shall know whether we are to expect
his return or not."

And while she broke the seal and perused the document, I
went on taking my coffee (we were at breakfast) : it was hot, and
I attributed to that circumstance a fiery glow which suddenly
rose to my face. Why my hand shook, and why I involuntarily
spilt half the contents of my cup into my saucer, I did not choose
to consider.

"Well — I sometimes think we are too cmict; but we run a
chance of being busy enough now: for a little while at least,"
said Mrs. Fairfax, still holding the note before her spectacles.

Ere I permitted myself to request an explanation, I tied the
string of Adile's pinafore, which happened to be loose: having
helped her also to another bun and refilled her mug with milk, 1
said, nonchalantly:

" Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose ?"

"Indeed he is— in three days, he says; that will be next
Thursday; and not alone cither. I don't know how many of the

138 JANE EYRE.

fine people at the Leas are coming with him : he sends directions
for all the best bedrooms to be prepared, and the library and
drawing rooms to be cleaned out ; and I am to get more kitchen
hands from the George Inn, at Millcote, and from wherever else
I can ; and the ladies will bring their maids and the gentlemen
their valets; so we shall have a full house of it." And Mrs.
Fairfax swallowed her breakfast and hastened away to commence
operations. '

The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I had
thought all the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well-
arranged : but it appears I was mistaken. Three women were
got to help ; and such scrubbing, such brushing, such washing of
paint and beating of carpets, such taking down and puttiug up
of pictures, such polishing of mirrors and lustres, such lighting
of fires in bedrooms, such airing of sheets and feather-beds on
hearths, I never beheld, either before or since. Adele ran quite
wild in the midst of it : the preparations for company, and the
prospect of their arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies. She
would have Sophie to look over all her " toilettes" as she called
frocks; to furbish up any that were "passees," and to air and
arrange the new. For herself, she did nothing but caper about
in the front chambers, jump on and off the bedsteads, and lie on
the matresses and piled-up bolsters and pillows before the enor-
mous fires roaring in the chimneys. From school duties she was
exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her service, and
I was all day in the store-room, helping (or hindering) her and
the cook ; learning to make custards and cheese-cakes and
French pastry, to truss game and garnish dessert-dishes.

The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon, in
time for dinner at six. During the intervening period I had no
time to nurse chimeras ; and I believe I was as active and gay as
anybody — Adele excepted. Still, now and then, I received a
damping check to my cheerfulness ; and was, in spite of myself,
thrown back on the region of doubt and portents, and dark con-
jectures. This was when I chanced to see the third story stair-
case door (which of late had always been kept locked) open
slowly, and give passage to the form of Grace Poole, in prim cap,
white apron, and handkerchief ; when I watched her glide along
the gallery, her quiet tread muffled in a list slipper ; when I saw
her look into the bustling, topsy-turvy bedrooms — just say a
word, perhaps, to the charwoman about the proper way to polish
a grate, or clean a marble mantelpiece, or take stains from
papered walls, and then pass on. She would thus descend to the
kitchen once a day, eat her dinner, smoke a moderate pipe on
the hearth, and go back, carrying her pot of porter with her, for
her private solace, in her own gloomy, upper haunt. Only one
hour in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants
below; all the rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled,
oaken chamber of the second story : there she sat and sewed —

JANE EYRE. 139

and probably laughed drearily to herself— as companionless as a
prisoner in his dungeon.

The strangest thing of all was, that not a soul in the house,
except me, noticed her habits, or seemed to marvel at them ; no
one discussed her position or employment; no one pitied her
solitude or isolation. I once, indeed, overheard part of a
dialogue between Leah and one of the charwomen, of which
Grace formed the subject. Leah had been saying something I
had not caught, and the charwoman remarked :

" She gets good wages, I guess?"

" Yes," said Leah : " I wish I had as good ; not that mine are
to complain of — there's no stinginess at Thornfield; but they're
not one-fifth of the sum Mrs. Poole receives. And she is laying
by: she goes every quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should
not wonder but she has saved enough to keep her independent if
she liked to leave ; but I suppose she's got used to the place ;
and then she's not forty yet, and strong and able for anything.
It is too soon for her to give up business."

" She is a good hand, I dare say," said the charwoman.

"Ah! — she understands what she has to do — nobody better,"
rejoined Leah, significantly; "and it is not every one could fill
her shoes ; not for all the money she gets."

"That it is not!" was the reply. "I wonder whether
master »"

The charwoman was going on ; but here Leah turned and
perceived me, and she instantly gave her companion a nudge.

" Doesn't she know?" I heard the woman whisper.

Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of course
dropped. All I had gathered from it amounted to this — that
there was a mystery at Thornfield ; and that from participation *
in that mystery I was purposely excluded.

Thursday came: all work had been completed the previous
evening ; carpets were laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radi-
ant white counterpanes spread, toilet-tables arranged, furniture
rubbed, flowers piled in vases, both chambers and saloons looked
as fresh and bright as hands could make them. The hall, too,
was scoured ; and the great carved clock, as well as the steps
and banisters of the staircase, were polished to the brightness of
glass : in the dining-room, the sideboard flashed resplendent
with plate ; in the drawing-room and boudoir, vases of exotics
bloomed on all sides.

Afternoon arrived : Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best black satin
gown, her gloves, and her gold watch ; for it was her part to
receive the company — to conduct the ladies to their rooms, &c.
Adele, too, would be dressed : though I thought she had little
chance of being introduced to the party that day at least. How-
ever, to please her, I allowed Sophie to apparel her in one of
her short, full muslin frocks. For myself, I had no need to make
any change ; I should not be called upon to quit my sanctum of

I40 JANE EYRE.

the school-room ; for a sanctum it was now become to me, — " a
very pleasant refuge in time of trouble."

It had been a mild, serene spring day, one of those days which
towards the end of March or the beginning of April, rise shining
over the earth as heralds of summer. It was drawing to an end -
now ; but the evening was even warm, and I sat at work in the
schoolroom with the window open.

" It gets late," said Mrs. Fairfax, entering in rustling state.
" I am glad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester
mentioned ; for it is past six now. I have sent John down to the
gates to see if there is anything on the road : one can see a long
way from thence in the direction of Millcote." She went to the
window.

"Here he is!" said she. "Well, John," (leaning out) "any
news ?"

" They're coming, ma'am," was the answer. " They'll be here
in ten minutes."

Adele flew to the window. I followed, taking care to stand on
one side, so that, screened by the curtain, I could see without
being seen.

The ten minutes John had given seemed very long, but at last
wheels were heard, four equestrians galloped up the drive, and
after them came two open carriages. Fluttering veils and wav-
ing plumes filled the vehicles ; two of the cavaliers were young,
dashing-looking gentlemen ; the third was Mr. Rochester, on
his black horse, Mesrour, Pilot bounding before him : at his side
rode a lady, and he and she were the first of the party. Her
purple riding-habit almost swept the ground, her veil streamed
long on the breeze; mingling with its transparent folds, and
gleaming through them, shone rich raven ringlets.

" Miss Ingram !" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away she hur-
ried to her post below.

The cavalcade following the sweep of the drive, quickly turned
the angle of the house, and I lost sight of it. Adele now
petitioned to go down ; but I took her on my knee and gave her
to understand that she must not on any account think of ven-
turing in sight of the ladies, either now or at any other time,
unless expressly sent for, that Mr. Rochester would be very
angry, &c. "Some natural tears she shed" on being told this,
but as I began to look very grave, she consented at last to wipe
them.

A joyous stir was now audible in the hall : gentlemen's deep
tones and ladies' silvery accents blent harmoniously together,
and distinguishable above all, though not loud, was the sonorous
voice of the master of Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and
gallant guests under its roof. Then light steps ascended the
stairs ; and there was a tripping through the gallery, and soft
cheerful laughs, and opening and closing doors, and, for a time,
a hush.

JANE EYRE. 141

'Elles changent de toilettes," said Adele; who, listening
attentively, had followed every movement, and she signed.

" Chez maman," said she, " quand il y avait du monde, je le
suivais partout, au salon et a leurs chambres, souvent je regardais
les femmes de chambre coiffer et habiller les dames, et c'ltait si
amusant: comme cela on apprend."

" Don't you feel hungry, Adele ?"

" Mais oui, mademoiselle : voila cinq ou six heures que nous
n'avons pas mangeV'

11 Well now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I will venture
down and get you something to eat."

And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought a back-
stairs which conducted airectly to the kitchen. All in that region
was fire an 1 commotion, the soup and fish were in the last stage
of projcctio-i , and the cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of
mind and body threatening spontaneous combustion. In the
servants' hall two coachmen and three gentlemen's gentlemen
stood or sat round the fire, the Abigails, I suppose, were upstairs
with their mistresses : the new servants that had been hired from
Millcote were bustling about everywhere. Threading this chaos,
I at last reached the larder; there I took possession of a cold
chicken, a roll of bread, some tarts, a plate or two and a knife
and fork; with this booty I made a hasty retreat. I had re-
gained the gallery, and was just shutting the back-door behind
me, when an accelerated hum warned me that the ladies were
about to issue from their chambers. I could not proceed to the
schoolroom without passing some of their doors, and running
the risk of being surprised with my cargo of victualage ; so I
stood still at this end, which, being windowless, was dark, quite
dark now, for the sun was set and twilight gathering.

Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one after
another : each came out gaily and airily, with dress that gleamed
lustrous through the dusk. For a moment they stood grouped
together at the other extremity of the gallery, conversing in a
key of sweet subdued vivacity: then they descended the staircase
almost as noiselessly as a bright mist rolls down a hill. Their
collective appearance had left on me an impression of high-born
elegance, such as I had never before received.

I found Adele peeping through the schoolroom door, which she
held ajar.

"What beautiful ladies 1" cried she in English. "Oh, I wish
I might go to them ! Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for
us by-and-by, after dinner?"

"No, indeed, I don't; Mr. Rochester has something else to
think about. Never mind the ladies to-night ; perhaps you will
sec them to-morrow: here is your dinner.

She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to
divert her attention for a time. It was well I secured this forage,
or both she, I and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our
repast, would have run a chance of getting no dinner at all:

142 JANE EYRE.

every one downstairs was too much engaged to think of us. The
dessert was not carried out till after nine ; and at ten, footmen
were still running to and fro with trays and coffee-cups. I allowed
Adele to sit up much later than usual, for she declared she could
not possibly go to sleep while the doors kept opening and shut-
ting below, and people bustling about. Besides, she added, a
message might possibly come from Mr. Rochester when she
was undressed ; " et alors quel dommage 1"

I told her stories as long as she would listen to them ; and
then for a change I took her out into the gallery. The hall lamp
was now lit, and it amused her to look over the balustrade and
watch the servants passing backwards and forwards. When the
evening was far advanced, a sound of music issued from the
drawing-room, whither the piano had been removed ; Adele and
I sat down on the top step of the stairs to listen. Presently a
voice blent with the rich tones of the instrument : it was a lady
who sang, and very sweet her notes were. The solo over, a duet
followed, and then a glee ; a joyous conversational murmur filled
up the intervals. I listened long: suddenly I discovered that my
ear was wholly intent on analysing the mingled sounds, and try-
ing to discriminate amidst the confusion of accents those of Mr.
Rochester; and when it caught them, which it soon did, it
found a further task in framing the tones, rendered by distance
inarticulate, into words.

The clock struck eleven. I looked at Adele, whose head leant
against my shoulder ; her eyes were waxing heavy, so I took her
up in my arms and carried her off to bed. It was near one before
the gentlemen and ladies sought their chambers.

The next day was as fine as its predecessor ; it was devoted by
the party to an excursion to some site in the neighbourhood.
They set out early in the forenoon, some on horseback, the rest
in carriages; I witnessed both the departure and the return.
Miss Ingram, as before, was the only lady equestrian; and, as
before, Mr. Rochester galloped at her side ; the two rode a little
apart from the rest. I pointed out this circumstance to Mrs.
Fairfax, who was standing at the window with me.

" You said it was not likely they should think of being married,"
said I, "but you see Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any
of the other ladies."

"Yes ; I dare say ; no doubt he admires her."

"And she him," I added; "look how she leans her head
towards him as if she were conversing confidentially ; I wish I
could see her face, I have never had a glimpse of it yet."

"You will see her this evening," answered Mrs. Fairfax. " I
happened to remark to Mr. Rochester how much Adele wished
to be introduced to the ladies, and he said : ' Oh ! let her come
into the drawing-room after dinner ; and request Miss Eyre to
accompany her.' "

" Yes — he said that '.rom mere politeness: I need not go, I
am sure," 1 answered.

JANE EYRE. 143

** Well, I observed to him that as you were unused to com-
pany, I did not think you would like appearing before so gay a
party— all strangers. And he replied, in his quick way : ' Non-
sense! If she objects, tell her it is my particular wish; and if
she resists, say I shall come and fetch her in case of contu-
macy."

" I will not give him that trouble," I answered. " I will go,
if no better maybe : but I don't like it. Shall you be there, Mrs.
Fairfax?"

"No; I pleaded off, and he admitted my plea. I'll tell you
how to manage so as to avoid the embarrassment of making a
formal entrance, which is the most disagreeable part of the busi-
ness. You must go into the drawing-room while it is empty,
before the ladies leave the dinner-table; choose your seat in
any quiet nook you like ; you need not stay long after the gentle-
men come in, unless you please : just let Mr. Rochester see you
are there and then slip away— nobody will notice you."

" Will these people remain long, do you think ?"

" Perhaps two or three weeks, certainly not more. After the
Kaster recess, Sir George Lynn, who was lately elected member
for Millcote, will have to go up to town and take his seat ; 1
dare say Mr. Rochester will accompany him ; it surprises me
that he has already made so protracted a stay at Thornfield."

It was with some trepidation that I perceived the hour approach
when I was to repair with my charge to the drawing-room.
Ad&le had been in a state of ecstasy all day, after hearing she
was to be presented to the ladies in the evening; and it was not
till Sophie commenced the operation of dressing her, that she
sobered down. Then the importance of the process quickly
steadied her; and by the time she had her curls arranged in
well-smoothed, drooping clusters, her pink satin frock put on,
her long sash tied, and her lace mittens adjusted, she looked as
grave as any judge. No need to warn her not to disarrange
her attire : when she was dressed, she sat demurely down in her
little chair, taking care previously to lift up the satin skirt for
fear she should crease it, and assured me she would not stir
thence till I was ready. This I quickly was : my best dress (the
silver-grey one, purchased for Miss Temple's wedding, and
never worn since,) was soon put on ; my hair was soon smooth-
ed ; my sole ornament, the pearl brooch, soon assumed. We
descended.

Fortunately, there was another entrance to the drawing-room
than that through the saloon where they were all seated at
dinner. We found the apartment vacant ; a large lire burning
silently on the marble hearth, and wax candles shining in bright
solitude, amid the exquisite flowers with which the tables were
adorned. The crimson curtain hung before the arch : slight as
was the separation this drapery formed from the party in the
adjoining saloon, they spoke in so low a key that nothing of

144 JANE EYRE.

their conversation could be distinguished beyond a soothing
murmur.

Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of a
most solemnising impression, sat down, without a word, on the
footstool I pointed out to her. I retired to a window-seat,
and, taking a book from the table near, endeavoured to read.
Adele brought her stool to my feet; ere long she touched my
knee.

" What is it, Adele ?" ^

" Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendre une seule de ces fleurs
magniflques, mademoiselle ? Seulement pour completer ma
toilette."

"You think too much of your 'toilette,' Adele: but you may
have a flower." And I took a rose from the vase and fastened
it in her sash. She sighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if
her cup of happiness were now full. I turned my face away to
conceal a smile 1 could not suppress : there was something
ludicrous as well as painful in the little Parisienne's earnest and
innate devotion to matters of dress.

A soft sound of rising now became audible ; the curtain was
swept back from the arch ; through it appeared the dining-room,
with its lit lustre pouring down light on the silver and glass of a
magnified dessert-service covering a long table. A band of
ladies stood in the opening ; they entered, and the curtain fell
behind them.

There were but eight; yet somehow, as they flocked in, they
gave the impression of a much larger number. Some of them
were very tall ; many were dressed in white ; and all had a
sweeping amplitude of array that seemed to magnify their per-
sons as a mist magnifies the moon. I rose and curtseyed to
them : one or two bent their heads in return ; the others only
stared at me.

They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the lightness
and buoyancy of their movements, of a flock of white plumy birds.
Some of them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the
sofas and ottomans : some bent over the tables and examined the
flowers and books : the rest gathered in a group round the fire :
all talked in a low but clear tone which seemed habitual to them.
I knew their names afterwards, and may as well mention them
now.

First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters. She
had evidently been a handsome woman, and was well preserved
still. Of her daughters, the eldest, Amy, was rather little;
naive, and child-like in face and manner, and piquant in form :
her white muslin dress and blue sash became her well. The
second, Louisa, was taller and more elegant in figure ; with a
very pretty face, of that order the French term " minois chiffon6 :"
both sisters were fair as lilies.

Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty ;
very haughty-looking, richly dressed in a satin robe of changeful

JANE EYRE. 145

sheen : her dark hair shone glossily under the shade ot an azure
plume, and within the circlet of a band of gems.

Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy ; but, I thought, more lady-
like. She had a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair.
Her black satin dress, her scarf of rich foreign lace, and her
pearl ornaments, pleased me better than the rainbow radiance of
the titled dame.

But the three most distinguished— partly, perhaps, because the
tallest figures of the band — were the Dowager Lady Ingram and
her daughters, Blanche and Mary. They were all three of the
loftiest stature of woman. The Dowager might be between forty
and fifty : her shape was still fine ; her hair (by candle-light at
least) still black; her teeth, too, were still apparently perfect.
Most people would have termed her a splendid woman of her
age : and so she was, no doubt, physically speaking ; but then
there was an expression of almost insupportable haughtiness in
her bearing and countenance. She had Roman features and a
double chin, disappearing into a throat like a pillar: these
features appeared to me, not only inflated and darkened, but even
furrowed with pride; and the chin was sustained by the same

Erinciple, in a position of almost preternatural erectness. She
ad, likewise, a fierce and a hard eye : it reminded me of Mrs.
Reed's; she mouthed her words in speaking; her voice was
deep, its inflections very pompous, very dogmatical — very intoler-
able, in short. A crimson velvet robe, and a shawl turban of
some gold-wrought Indian fabric, invested her (I suppose she
thought) with a truly impcral dignity.

Blanche and Mary were of equal stature— straight and tall as
poplars. Mary was too slim for her height; but Blanche was
moulded like a Dian. I regarded her, of course, with special
interest. First, I wished to see whether her appearance accorded
with Mrs. Fairfax's description; secondly, whether it at all
resembled the fancy miniature I had painted of her ; and thirdly
— it will out !— whether it were such as I should fancy likely to
suit Mr. Rochester's taste.

As far as person went, she answered point for point, both to
my picture, and Mrs. Fairfax's description. The noble bust, the
sloping shoulders, the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black
ringlets were all there: but her face? Her face was like her
mother's ; a youthful unfurrowed likeness ; the same low brow,
the same high features, the same pride. It was not, however, so
saturine a pride: she laughed continually; her laugh was
satirical, and so was the habitual expression of her arched and
haughty lip.

Genius is said to be self-conscious : I cannot tell whether Miss
Ingram was a genius, but she was self-conscious — remarkably
self-conscious indeed. She entered into a discourse on botany
with the gentle Mrs. Dent. It seems Mrs. Dent had not studied
that science: though, as she said, she liked flowers, "especially
wild ones;" Miss Ingram had, and she ran over its vocabulary

J

I46 JANE EYRE.

with an air. I presently perceived she was (what is vernacularly
termed) trailing Mrs. Dent ; that is, playing on her ignorance :
her trail might be clever, but it was decidedly not good-natured.
She played: her execution was brilliant; she sang: her voice
was fine; she talked French apart to her mamma: and she
talked it well, with fluency and with a good accent.

Mary had a milder and more open countenance than Blanche ;
softer features too, and a skin some shades fairer (Miss Ingram
was dark as a Spaniard) — but Mary was deficient in life: her
face lacked expression, her eye lustre ; she had nothing to say,
and having once taken a seat, remained fixed like a statue in its
niche. The sisters were both attired in spotless white.

And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as Mr.
Rochester would be likely to make ? I could not tell — I did not
know his taste in female beauty. If he liked the majestic, she
was the very type of majesty: then she was accomplished,
sprightly. Most gentlemen would admire her, I thought; and
that he did admire her, I already seemed to have obtained
proof: to remove the last shade of doubt, it remained but to see
them together.

You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all this time
been sitting motionless on the stool at my feet : no ; when the
ladies entered, she rose, advanced to meet them, made a stately
reverence, and said, with gravity :

"Bon jour, mesdames."

And Miss Ingram had looked down at her with a mocking air,
and exclaimed, " Oh, what a little puppet !"

Lady Lynn had remarked, "It is Mr. Rochester's ward, I
suppose — the little French girl he was speaking of."

Mrs. Dent had kindly taken her hand, and given her a kiss.
Amy and Louisa Eshton had cried out simultaneously :

" What a love of a child !"

And then they had called her to a sofa, where she now sat,
ensconsed between them, chattering alternately in French and
broken English : absorbing not only the young ladies' attention,
but that of Mrs. Eshton and Lady Lynn, and getting spoilt to
her heart's content.

At last coffee is brought in, and the gentlemen are sum-
moned. I sit in the shade — if any shade there be in this
brilliantly-lit apartment; the window-curtain half hides me.
Again the arch yawns : they come. The collective appearance
of the gentlemen, like that of the ladies, is very imposing : they
are all costumed in black ; most of them are tall, some young.
Henry and Frederick Lynn are very dashing sparks, indeed ; and
Colonel Dent is a fine soldierly man. Mr. Eshton, the magis-
trate of the district, is gentleman-like : his hair is quite white,
his eyebrows and whiskers still dark, which gives him something
of the appearance of a "pere noble de theatre." Lord Ingram,
like his sisters, is very tall ; like them, also, he is handsome ;
but he shares Mary's apathetic and listless look: he seems to

JANE EYRE. I47

have more length of limb than vivacity of blood or vigour of
brain.

And where is Mr. Rochester ?

He comes in last : I am not looking at the arch, yet I see him
enter. I try to concentrate my attention on those netting-needles,
on the meshes of the purse I am forming — I wish to think only of
the work I have in my hands, to see only the silver beads and
silk threads that lie in my lap ; whereas, I distinctly behold his
figure, and I inevitably recall the moment when I last saw it :
just after I had rendered him, what he deemed, an essential ser-
vice — and he, holding my hand, and looking down on my face,
surveyed me with eyes that revealed a heart full to overflow ; in
whose emotions I had a part. How near had I approached him
at that moment ! What had occurred since, calculated to change
his and my relative positions ? Yet now, how distant, how far
estranged we were 1 So far estranged, that I did not expect him
to come and speak to me. I did not wonder, when, without
looking at me, he took a seat at the other side of the room, and
began conversing with some of the ladies.

No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted on them, and
that I might gaze without being observed, than my eyes were
drawn involuntarily to his face : I could not keep their lids under
control: they would rise, and the irids would fix on him. I
looked, and had an acute pleasure in looking — a precious, yet
poignant pleasure ; pure gold, with a steely point of agony :
a pleasure like what the thirst-perishing man might feel who
knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops and
drinks divine draughts nevertheless.

Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the gazer." My
master's colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and
jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, grim mouth — all
energy, decision, will — were not beautiful, according to rule ; but
they were more than beautiful to me : they were full of an interest,
an influence that quite mastered me— that took my feelings from
my own power and fettered them in his. I had not intended to
love him : the reader knows that I had wrought hard to extirpate
from my soul the germs of love there detected ; and now, at the
first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, green and
strong 1 He made me love him without looking at me.

I compared him with his guests. What was the gallant grace
of the Lynns, the languid elegance of Lord Ingram— even the
military distinction of Colonel Dent, contrasted with his look of
native pith and genuine power? I had no sympathy in their
appearance, their expression: yet I could imagine that most
observers would call them attractive, handsome, imposing; while
they would pronounce Mr. Rochester at once harsh-featured and
melancholy looking. I saw them smile, laugh — it was nothing :
the light of the candles had as much soul in it as their smile ; the
tinkle of the bell as much significance as their laugh. I saw Mr.
Rochester smile— his stem features softened ; his eye grew both

I48 JANE EYRE.

brilliant and gentle, its ray both searching and sweet. He was
talking, at the moment, to Louisa and Amy Eshton. I wondered
to see them receive with calm that look which seemed to me so
penetrating: I expected their eyes to fall, their colo.ur to rise,
under it; yet I was glad when I found they were in no sense
moved. "He is not to them what he is to me," I thought.
" He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine — I am sure
he is — I feel akin to him — I understand the language of his
countenance and movements : though rank and wealth sever us
widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and
nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few
days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my
salary at his hands ? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any
other light than as a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature!
Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively
round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must
smother hope ; I must remember that he cannot care much for
me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I
have his force to influence, and his spell to attract ; I mean only
that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him.
I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered —
and yet, while I breathe and think I must love him."

Coffee is handed. The ladies, since the gentlemen entered,
have become lively as larks ; conversation waxes brisk and merry.
Colonel Dent and Mr. Eshton argue on politics ; their wives
listen. The two proud dowagers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram,
confabulate together. Sir George — whom, by-the-by, I have
forgotten to describe — a very big, and very fresh-looking country
gentleman, stands before their sofa* coffee-cup in hand, and
occasionally puts in a word. Mr. Frederick Lynn has taken a
seat beside Mary Ingram, and is showing her the engravings of
a splendid volume : she looks, smiles now and then, but appar-
ently says little. The tall and phlegmatic Lord Ingram leans with
folded arms on the chair-back of the little and lively Amy Eshton ;
she glances up at him, and chatters like a wren : she likes him
better than she does Mr. Rochester. Henry Lynn has taken
possession of an ottoman at the feet of Louisa ; Adele shares it
with him : he is trying to talk French with her, and Louisa
laughs at his blunders. With whom will Blanche Ingram pair?
She is standing alone at the table, bending gracefully over an
album. She seems waiting to be sought, but she will not wait
too long : she herself selects a mate.

Mr. Rochester, having quitted the Eshtons, stands on the
hearth as solitary as she stands by the table : she confronts
him, taking her station on the opposite side of the mantelpiece.

" Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children ?"

"Nor am I."

"Then what induced you to take charge of such a little doll
as that ?" (pointing to Adele.) " Where did you pick her up ?"

" I did not pick her up ; she was left on my hands."

JANE EYRE. 149

"You should have sent her to school."

" I could not afford it : schools are so dear."

"Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I saw a
person with her just now — is she gone? Oh, no! there she is
still behind the window-curtain. You pay her, of course; I
should think it quite as expensive — more so ; for you have them
both to keep in addition."

I feared — or should I say hoped ? — the allusion to me would
make Mr. Rochester glance my way ; and I involuntarily shrank
further into the shade : but he never turned his eves.

" I have not considered the subject," said he indifferently,
looking straight before him.

" No— you men never do consider economy and common-sense.
You should hear mamma on the chapter of governesses. Mary
and I have had, I should think, a dozen at least in our day ; half

of them detestable and the rest ridiculous, and all incubi

were they not, mamma ?"

" Did you speak, my own ?"

The young lady thus claimed as the dowager's special
property, reiterated her question with an explanation.

" My dearest, don't mention governesses ; the word makes me
nervous. I have suffered a martyrdom from their incompetency
and caprice. I thank Heaven I have now done with them !"

Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady, and whispered
something in her ear ; I suppose from the answer elicited, it was
a reminder that one of the anathematised race was present.

" Tant pis !" said her ladyship, " I hope it may do her good !"
Then, in a lower tone, but still loud enough for mc to hear, " I
noticed her; I am a judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all
the faults of her class."

" What are they, madam ?" inquired Mr. Rochester aloud.

" I will tell you in your private ear," replied she, wagging her
turban three times with portentous significancy.

" But my curiosity will be past its appetite : it craves food
now."

II Ask Blanche; she is nearer you than I."

" Oh, don't refer him to me, mamma ! I have iust one word to
say of the whole tribe ; they are a nuisance. Not that I ever
suffered much from them; I took care to turn the tables.
What tricks Theodore and I used to play on our Miss Wilsons,
and Mrs. Greys, and Madame Jouberts 1 Mary was always too
sleepy to join in a plot with spirit. The best fun was with
Madame Toubert : Miss Wilson was a poor sickly thin^, lachry-
mose, ana low-spirited; not worth the trouble of vanquishing, in
short : and Mrs. Grey was coarse and insensible ; no blow took
effect on her. But poor Madame Toubert 1 I see her yet in her
raging passions, when we had driven her to extremities— spilt
our tea, crumbled our bread and butter, tossed our books up to
the ceiling, and played a charivari with the ruler and desk, the

150 JANE EYRE.

fender and fire-irons. Theodore, do you remember those merry
days?"

"Yaas, to be sure I do," drawled Lord Ingram; "and the
poor old stick used to cry out, ' Oh, you villains childs !' — and
then we sermonised her on the presumption of attempting to
teach such clever blades as we were, when she was herself so
ignorant."

"We did; and Tedo, you know, I helped you in prosecuting
(or persecuting) your tutor, whey-faced Mr. Vining — the parson
in the pip, as we used to call him. He and Miss Wilson
took the liberty of falling in love with each other — at least
Tedo and I thought so ; we surprised sundry tender glances
and sighs which we interpreted as tokens of 'la belle passion,'
and I promise you the public soon had the benefit of our dis-
covery; we employed it as a sort of lever to hoist our dead-
weights from the house. Dear mamma, there, as soon as she
got an inkling of the business, found out that it was of an
immoral tendency. Did you not my lady-mother ?"

" Certainly, my best. And I was quite right ; depend on that:
there are a thousand reasons why liaisons between governesses
and tutors should never be tolerated a moment in any well-
regulated house : firstly "

"Oh, gracious, mamma! Spare us the enumeration! Au
reste, we all know them : danger of bad example to innocence of
childhood ; distractions and consequent neglect of duty on the
part of the attached — mutual alliance and reliance ; confidence
thence resulting — insolence accompanying — mutiny and general
blow-up. Am I right, Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?"

" My lily-flower, you are right now, as always."

"Then no more need be said; change the subject."

Amy Eshton, not hearing or not heeding this dictum, joined in
with her soft, infantine tone; "Louisa and I used to quiz our
governess too ; but she was such a good creature, she would bear
anything ; nothing put her out. She was never cross with us ;
was she Louisa?"

" No, never ; we might do what we pleased ; ransack her desk
and her work-box, and turn her drawers inside out ; and she was
so good-natured, she would give us anything we asked for."

"I suppose now," said Miss Ingram, curling her lip sarcas-
tically, "we shall have an abstract of the memoirs of all the
governesses extant ; in order to avert such a visitation, I again
move the introduction of a new topic. Mr. Rochester, do you
second my motion ?"

" Madam, I support you on this point as on every other."

"Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward. Signior
Eduardo, are you in voice to-night ?"

" Donna Blanc, if you command it, I will be."

" Then, signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up
your lungs and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my
royal service."

JANE EYRE. 151

" Who would not be the Rizzio of so divine a Mary?"

" A fig for Rizzio I" cried she, tossing her head with all its
curls, as she moved to the piano. " It is my opinion the fiddler
David must have been an insipid sort of fellow; I like black
Bothwell better : to my mind a man is nothing without a spice
of the devil in him ; and history may say what it will of James
Hepburn, but I have a notion he was just the sort of wild, fierce,
bandit hero whom I could have consented to gift with my hand."

"Gentlemen, you hear! Now which of you most resembles
Bothwell?" cried Mr. Rochester.

"I should say the preference lies with you," respodded Colonel
Dent.

" On my honour, I am much obliged to you," was the reply.

Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with proud grace at
the piano, spreading out her snowy robes in queenly amplitude,
commenced a brilliant prelude; talking meantime. She
appeared to be on her high horse to-night ; both her words and
her air seemed intended to excite, not only the admiration, but
the amazement of her auditors: she was evidently bent on
striking them as something very dashing and daring indeed.

"Oh, I am so sick of the young men of the present day!"
exclaimed she, rattling away at the instrument. "Poor, puny
things not fit to stir a step beyond papa*s park-gates: nor to

go even so far without mamma's permission and guardianship !
reatures so absorbed in care about their pretty faces and their
white hands, and their small feet ; as if a man had anything to
do with beauty I As if loveliness were not the special preroga-
tive of woman — her legitimate appanage and heritage ! I grant
an ugly woman is a blot on the fair face of creation ; but as to
the gentlemen, let them be solicitous to possess only strength and
valour : let their motto be : — Hunt, shoot, and fight : the rest is
not worth a fillip. Such should be my devise were I a man."

"Whenever I marry," she continued after a pause which none
interrupted, " I am resolved my husband shall not be a rival, but
a foil to me. I will suffer no competitor near the throne; I
shall exact an undivided homage : nis devotions shall not be
shared between me and the shape he sees in his mirror. Mr.
Rochester, now sing, and I will play for you."

" I am all obedience," was the response.

" Here then is a Corsair-song. Know that I dote on Corsairs;
and for that reason, sing it ' con spirito.' "

" Commands from Miss Ingram's lips would put spirit into a
mug of milk-and-water."

" Take care, then : if you don't please me, I will shame you by
showing how such things shouldbt done."

"That is offering a premium on incapacity: I shall now
endeavour to fail."

" Gardez-vous en bien ! If you err wilfully, I shall devise a
proportionate punishment."

152 JANE EYRE.

. "Miss Ingram ought to be clement, for she has it in her
power to inflict a chastisement beyond mortal endurance."

" Ha ! explain !" commanded the lady.

" Pardon me, madam : no need of explanation : your own fine
sense must inform you that one of your frowns would be a
sufficient substitute for capital punishment."

"Sing!" said she, and again touching the piano, she com-
menced an accompaniment in spirited style.

" Now is my time to slip away," thought I : but the tones that
then severed the air arrested me. Mrs. Fairfax had said Mr.
Rochester possessed a fine voice: he did— a mellow, powerful
bass, into which he threw his own feeling, his own force ; find-
ing a way through the ear to the heart, and there waking
sensation strangely. I waited till the last deep and full vibra-
tion had expired — till the tide of talk, checked an instant, had
resumed its flow ; I then quitted my sheltered corner and made
my exit by the side-door, which was fortunately near. Thence
a narrow passage led into the hall : in crossing it, I perceived
my sandal was loose ; I stopped to tie it, kneeling down for that
purpose on the mat at the foot of the staircase. I heard the
dining-room door unclose ; a gentleman came out ; rising
hastily, I stood face to face with him : it was Mr. Rochester.

" How do you do ?" he asked.

" I am very well, sir."

" Why did you not come and speak to me in the room ?"

I thought I might have retorted the question on him who put
it : but I would not take that freedom. I answered :

" I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed engaged, sir."

" What have you been doing during my absence ?"

" Nothing particular; teaching Adele as usual."

"And getting a good deal paler than you were — as I saw at
first sight. What is the matter?"

" Nothing at all, sir."

" Did you take any cold that night you half drowned me ?'

"Not the least."

" Return to the drawing-room : you are deserting it too early."

" I am tired, sir."

He looked at me for a minute.

"And a little depressed," he said. "What about? Tell
me."

" Nothing — nothing, sir. I am not depressed."

" But I affirm that you are : so much depressed that a few
more words would bring tears to your eyes — indeed, they are
there now, shining and swimming ; and a bead has slipped from
the lash and fallen on to the flag. If I had time, and was not in
mortal dread of some prating prig of a servant passing, I would
know what all this means. Well, to-night I excuse you ; but
understand that so long as my visitors stay I expect you to
appear in the drawing-room every evening. It is my wish; don't

JANE EYRE. 153

neglect it. Now go, and send Sophie for Adele. Good night,
my " He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MERRY days were these at Thornfield Hall, and busy days
too. How different from the first three months of still-
ness, monotony, and solitude I had passed beneath its roof ! All
sad feelings seemed now driven from the house, all gloomy asso-
ciations forgotten : there was life everywhere, movement all day
long. You could not now traverse the gallery, once so hushed,
nor enter the front chambers, once so tenantless, without encoun-
tering a smart lady's-maid or a dandy valet.

The kitchen, the butler's pantry, the servants' hall, the entrance
hall, were equally alive ; and the saloons were only left void and
still when the blue sky and halcyon sunshine of the genial spring
weather called their occupants out into the grounds. Even
when that weather was broken, and continuous rain set in for
some days, no damp seemed cast over enjoyment ; indoor
amusements only became more lively and varied, in consequence
of the stop put to outdoor gaiety.

I wondered what they were going to do the first evening a
change of entertainment was proposed : they spoke of " playing
charades," but in my ignorance I did not understand the term.
The servants were called in, the dining-room tables wheeled
away, the lights otherwise disposed, the chairs placed in a
semicircle opposite the arch. While Mr. Rochester and the
other gentlemen directed these alterations, the ladies were run-
ning up and down stairs ringing for their maids. Mrs. Fairfax
was summoned to give information respecting the resources of
the house in shawls, dresses, draperies of any kind; and certain
wardrobes of the third story were ransacked, and their contents,
in the shape of brocaded and hooped petticoats, satin sacques,
black modes, lace lappets, &c, were brought down in armfuls
by the Abigails ; then a selection was made, and such things as
were chosen were carried to the boudoir within the drawing-
room.

Meantime, Mr. Rochester had again summoned the ladies
round him, and was selecting certain of their number to be of
his party. "Miss Ingram is mine, of course," said he: after-
wards he named the two Misses Eshton and Mrs. Dent. He
looked at me : I happened to be near him, as I had been fastening
the clasp of Mrs. Dent's bracelet, which had got loose.

"Will you play?" he asked. I shook my head. He did not
insist, which I rather feared he would have done : he allowed
me to return quietly to my usual seat.

He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain : the other

154 JANE EYRE.

party, which was headed by Colonel Dent, sat down on the
crescent of chairs. One of the gentlemen, Mr. Eshton, observing
me, seemed to propose that I should be asked to join them, but
Lady Ingram instantly negatived the notion.

" No," I heard her say; " she looks too stupid for any game
of the sort."

Ere long, a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up. Within
the arch, the bulky figure of Sir George Lynn, whom Mr.
Rochester had likewise chosen, was seen enveloped in a white
sheet : before him, on a table, lay open a large book ; and at
his side stood Amy Eshton, draped in Mr. Rochester's cloak,
and holding a book in her hand. Somebody, unseen, rang the
bell merrily ; then Adele (who had insisted on being one of her
guardian's party), bounded forward, scattering round her the
contents of a basket of flowers she carried on her arm. Then
appeared the magnificent figure of Miss Ingram, clad in white, a
long veil on her head, and a wreath of roses round her brow ; by
her side walked Mr. Rochester, and together they drew near the
table. They knelt, while Mrs. Dent and Louisa Eshton, dressed
also in white, took up their stations behind them. A ceremony
followed, in dumb show, in which it was easy to recognize the
pantomime of a marriage. At its termination, Colonel Dent and
his party consulted in whispers for two minutes, then the Colonel
called out —

" Bride !" Mr. Rochester bowed, and the curtain fell.
A considerable interval elapsed before it again rose. Its
second rising displayed a more elaborately prepared scene than
the last. The drawing-room, as I have before observed, was
raised two steps above the dining-room, and on the top of the
upper step, placed a yard or two back within the room, appeared
a large marble basin, which I recognized as an ornament of the
conservatory — where it usually stood, surrounded by exotics, and
tenanted by gold fish — and whence it must have been transported
with some trouble, on account of its size and weight.

Seated on the carpet* by the side of this basin, was seen Mr.
Rochester, costumed in shawls, with a turban on his head.
His dark eyes and swarth skin and Paynim features suited the
costume exactly ; he looked the very model of an Eastern emir ;
an agent or a victim of the bowstring. Presently advanced into
view Miss Ingram. She, too, was attired in Oriental fashion — a
crimson scarf tied sash-like round the waist ; an embroidered
handkerchief knotted about her temples ; her beautifully moulded
arms bare, one of them upraised in the act of supporting a
pitcher, poised gracefully on her head. Both her cast of form
and feature, her complexion and her general air, suggested the
idea of some Israelitish princess of the patriarchal days ; and
such was doubtless the character she intended to represent.

She approached the basin, and bent over it as if to fill her
pitcher; she again lifted it to her head. The personage on
the well-brink now seemed to accost her; to make some re-

JANE EYRE. 155

quest — " She hasted, let down her pitcher on her hand and gave
him to drink." From the bosom of his robe, he then produced
a casket, opened it and showed magnificent bracelets and ear-
rings: she acted astonishment and admiration; kneeling, he
laid the treasure at her feet; incredulity and delight were ex-

Eressed by her looks and gestures; the stranger fastened the
racelets on her arms, and the rings in her ears. It was Eliezer
and Rebecca : the camels only were wanting.

The divining party again laid their heads together: appar-
ently they could not agree about the word or syllable this
scene illustrated. Colonel Dent, their spokesman, demanded
"the tableau of the whole;" whereupon the curtain again
descended.

On its third rising, only a portion of the drawing-room was
disclosed ; the rest being concealed by a screen, hung with some
sort of dark and coarse drapery. The marble basin was removed,
in its place stood a deal table and a kitchen chair; these objects
were visible by a very dim light proceeding from a horn lantern,
the wax candles being all extinguished.

Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched hands
resting on his knees, and his eyes bent on the ground. I knew
Mr. Rochester ; though the begrimed face, the disordered dress
(his coat hanging loose from one arm, as if it had been almost
torn from his back in a scuffle), the desperate and scowling
countenance, the rough, bristling hair, might well have disguised
him. As he moved, a chain clanked, to his wrists were attached
fetters.

11 Bridewell I" exclaimed Colonel Dent, and the charade was
solved.

A sufficient interval having elapsed for the performers to
resume their ordinary costumes, they re-entered the dining-room.
Mr. Rochester led in Miss Ingram ; she was complimenting him
on his acting.

" Do you know," said she, " that of the three characters, I
liked you in the last best? Oh, had you but lived a few years
earlier, what a gallant gentleman-highwayman you would have
made!"

" Is all the soot washed from my face?" he asked, turning it
towards her.

"Alas, yes; the more's the pity 1 Nothing could be more
becoming to your complexion than that ruffian's rouge."

44 You would like a hero of the road then ?"

" An English hero of the road would be the next best thing to
an Italian bandit, and that could only be surpassed by a Levan-
tine pirate."

" Well, whatever I am, remember you are my wife; we were
married an hour since, in the presence of all these witnesses."

She giggled, and her colour rose.

" Now, Dent," continued Mr. Rochester, "it is your turn."

And as the other party withdrew, he and his band took the

156 JANE EYRE.

vacated seats. Miss Ingram placed herself at her leader's right
hand : the other diviners filled the chairs on each side of him
and her. I did not now watch the actors ; I no longer waited
with interest for the curtain to rise ; my attention was absorbed
by the spectators ; my eyes, erewhile fixed on the arch, were now
irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs. What charade
Colonel Dent and his party played, what word they chose, how
they acquitted themselves, I no longer remember : but I still see
the consultation which followed each scene ; I see Mr. Rochester
turn to Miss Ingram, and Miss Ingram to him ; I see her incline
her head towards him, till the jetty curls almost touch his shoulder
and wave against his cheek ; I hear their mutual whisperings ;
I recall their interchanged glances ; and something even of
the feeling roused by the spectacle returns in memory at this
moment.

I have told you reader, that I had learnt to love Mr. Rochester,
I could not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had
ceased to notice me — because I might pass hours in his presence
and he would never once turn his eyes in my direction — because
I saw all his attentions appropriated by a great lady, who scorned
to touch me with the hem of her robes as she passed ; who, if
ever her dark and imperious eye fell on me by chance, would
withdraw it instantly as from an object too mean to merit ob-
servation. I could not unlove him, because I felt sure he would
soon marry this very lady — because I read daily in her a proud
security in his intentions respecting her — because I witnessed
hourly in him a style of courtship which, if careless and choosing
rather to be sought than to seek, was yet, in its very carelessness
captivating, and in its very pride, irresistible.

There was nothing to cool or banish love in these circum-
stances; though much to create despair. Much too, you will
think, reader, to engender jealousy : if a woman in my position
could presume to be jealous of a woman in Miss Ingram's. But
I was not jealous ; or very rarely — the nature of the pain I
suffered could not be explained by that word. Miss Ingram was
a mark beneath jealousy, she was too inferior to excite the feel-
ing. Pardon the seeming paradox: I mean what I say. She
was very showy, but she was not genuine : she had a fine per-
son, many brilliant attainments; but her mind was poor, her
heart barren by nature ; nothing bloomed spontaneously on that
soil ; no unforced natural fruit delighted by its freshness. She
was not good : she was not original ; she used to repeat sound-
ing phrases from books ; she never offered, nor had, an opinion
of her own. She advocated a high tone of sentiment ; but she
did not know the sensations of sympathy and pity ; tenderness
and truth were not in her. Too often she betrayed this by the
undue vent she gave to a spiteful antipathy she had conceived
against little Adele ; pushing her away with some contumelious
epithet if she happened to approach her ; sometimes ordering her
from the room, and always treating her with coldness and acri-

JANE EYRE. 157

mony. Other eyes besides mine watched these manifestations of
character— watched them closely, keenly, shrewdly. Yes : the
future bridegroom, Mr. Rochester himself, exercised over his in-
tended a ceaseless surveilance ; and it was from this sagacity —
this guardedness of his — this perfect, clear consciousness of his
fair one's defects— this obvious absence of passion in his senti-
ments towards her, that my ever-torturing pain arose.

I saw he was going to marry her, for family, perhaps political
reasons ; because her rank and connections suited him ; I felt he
had not given her his love, and that her qualifications were ill
adapted to win from him that treasure. This was the point —
this was where the nerve was touched and teased — this was
where the fever was sustained and fed : she could not charm
him.

If she had managed the victory at once, and he had yielded
and sincerely laid his heart at her feet, I should have covered
my face, turned to the wall, and (figuratively) have died to them.
If Miss Ingram had been a good and noble woman, endowed
with force, fervour, kindness, sense, I should have had one vital
struggle with two tigers — jealousy and despair : then, my heart
torn out and devoured, I should have admired her, acknowledged
her excellence, and been quiet for the rest of my days : and the
more absolute her superiority, the deeper would have been my
admiration — the more truly tranquil my quiescence. But as
matters really stood, to watch Miss Ingram's efforts at fascinat-
ing Mr. Rochester, to witness their repeated failure — herself un-
conscious that they did fail; vainly fancying that each shaft
launched hit the mark, and infatuatedly pluming herself on suc-
cess, when her pride and self-complacency repelled further and
further what she wished to allure — to witness this, was to be at
once under ceaseless excitation and ruthless restraint.

Because, when she failed, I saw how she might have suc-
ceeded ; arrows that continually glanced off from Mr. Rochester's
breast, and fell harmless at his feet, might, I knew, if shot by a
surer hand, have quivered keen in his proud heart — have called
love into his stern eye, and softness into his sardonic face ; or,
better still, without weapons a silent conquest might have been
won.

" Why can she not influence him more, when she is privileged
to draw so near to him ?" I asked myself. " Surely she cannot
truly like him, or not like him with true affection I If she did,
she need not coin her smiles so lavishly ; flash her glances so
unremittingly ; manufacture airs so elaborate, graces so multi-
tudinous. It seems to me that she might, by merely sitting
quietly at his side, saying little and looking less, get nigher his
heart. 1 have seen in his face a far different expression from
that which hardens it now while she is so vivaciously accosting
him: but then it came of itself; it was not elicited by meretri-
cious arts and calculated manoeuvres ; and one had but to accept
it — to answer what he asked without pretention, to address him

158 JANE EYRE.

when needful without grimace — and it increased and grew kinder
and more genial, and warmed one like a fostering sunbeam.
How will she manage to please him when they are married ? I
do not think she will manage it ; and yet it might be managed ;
and his wife might, I verily believe, be the very happiest woman
the sun shines on."

I have not yet said anything condemnatory of Mr. Rochester's
project to marrying for interest and connections. It surprised
me when I first discovered that such was his intention : I had
thought him a man unlikely to be influenced by motives so com-
monplace in his choice of a wife ; but the longer I considered the
position, education, &c, of the parties, the less I felt justified in
judging or blaming either him or Miss Ingram, for acting in
conformity to ideas and principles instilled into them, doubtless,
from their childhood. All their class held these principles : I
supposed, then, they had reasons for holding them such as I
could not fathom. It seemed to me that, were I gentleman like
him, I would take to my bosom only such a wife as I could love ;
but the very obviousness of the advantages to the husband's own
happiness, offered by this plan, convinced me that there must be
arguments against its general adoption of which I was quite
ignorant : otherwise I felt sure all the world would act as
I wished to act.

But in other points, as well as this, I was growing very lenient
to my master : I was forgetting all his faults, for which I had
once kept a sharp look-out. It had formerly been my endeavour
to study all sides of his character: to take the bad with the
good ; and, from the just weighing of both, to form an equitable
judgment. Now I saw no bad. The sarcasm that had repelled,
the harshness that had startled me once, were only like keen
condiments in a choice dish : their presence was pungent, but
their absence would be felt as comparatively insipid. And as for
the vague something — was it a sinister or a sorrowful, a design-
ing or a desponding expression ? — that opened upon a careful
observer, now and then, in his eye, and closed again before one
could fathom the strange depth partially disclosed ; that some-
thing which used to make me fear and shrink, as if I had been
wandering amongst volcanic-looking hills, and had suddenly felt
the ground quiver, and seen it gape : that something, I, at inter-
vals, beheld still ; and with throbbing heart, but not with palsied
nerves.^ Instead of wishing to shun, I longed only to dare — to
divineit; and I thought Miss Ingram happy, because one day
she might look into the abyss at her leisure, explore its secrets
and analyse their nature.

Meantime, while I thought only of my master and his future
bride — saw only them, heard only their discourse, and considered
only their movements of importance — the rest of the party were
occupied with their own separate interests and pleasures. The
ladies Lynn and Ingram continued to consort in solemn con-
ferences ; where they nodded their two turbans at each other, and

JANE EYRE. 159

held up their four hands in confronting gestures of surprise, or
mystery, or horror, according to the theme on which their gossip
ran, like a pair of magnified puppets. Mild Mrs. Dent talked
with good-natured Mrs. Eshton : and the two sometimes bestowed
a courteous word or smile on me. Sir George Lynn, Colonel
Dent, and Mr. Eshton discussed politics, or county affairs, or
justice business. Lord Ingram flirted with Amy Eshton ; Louisa
played and sang to and with one of the Messrs. Lynn ; and Mary
Ingram listened languidly to the gallant speeches of the other.
Sometimes all, as with one consent, suspended their by-play to
observe and listen to the principal actors: for, after all, Mr.
Rochester and — because closely connected with him — Miss
Ingram were the life and soul of the party. If he was absent
from the room an hour, a perceptible dulness seemed to steal
over the spirits of his guests ; and his re-entrance was sure to
give a fresh impulse to the vivacity of conversation.

The want of his animating influence appeared to be peculiarly
felt one day that he had been summoned to Millcote on business,
and was not likely to return till late. The afternoon was wet ; a
walk the party had proposed to take to see a gipsy camp, lately
pitched on a common beyond Hay, was consequently deferred.
Some of the gentlemen were gone to the stables ; the younger
ones, together with the younger ladies, were playing billiards in
the billiard-room. The dowagers Ingram and Lynn sought
solace in a quiet game of cards. Blanche Ingram, after having
repelled, by supercilious taciturnity, some efforts of Mrs. Dent
and Mrs. Eshton to draw her into conversation, had first mur-
mured over some sentimental tunes and airs on the piano, and
then, having fetched a novel from the library, had flung herself
in haughty Tistlessness on a sofa, and prepared to beguile, by the
spell of fiction, the tedious hours of absence. The room and the
house were silent; only now and then the merriment of the
billiard players was heard from above.

It was verging on dusk, and the clock had already given warn-
ing of the hour to dress for dinner, when little Adele, who knelt
by me in the drawing-room window-seat, exclaimed :

" Voila Monsieur Rochester, quie revientl"

I turned, and Miss Ingram darted forwards from her sofa : the
others, too, looked up from their several occupations ; for at the
same time a crunching of wheels and a splashing tramp of horse-
hoofs became audible on the wet gravel. A post-chaise was
approaching.

"What can possess him to come home in that style?" said
Miss Ingram. " He rode Mesrour (the black horse), did he not,
when he went out ? and Pilot was with him : what has he done
with the animals?"

As she said this, she approached her tall person and ample
garments so near the window, that I was obliged to bend back
almost to the breaking of my spine : in her eagerness she did
not observe mc at first, but when she did she curled her lip and

l60 JANE EYRE.

moved to another casement. The post-chaise stopped, the driver
rang the door bell, and a gentleman alighted, attired in travelling
garb ; but it was not Mr. Rochester : it was a tall, fashionable-
looking man, a stranger.

"Provoking!" exclaimed Miss Ingram: "you tiresome mon-
key!" (apostrophising Adele) "who perched you up in the
window to give false intelligence ?" and she cast on'me an angry
glance, as if I were in fault.

Some parleying was audible in the hall, and soon the new
comer entered. He bowed to Lady Ingram, as deeming her the
eldest lady present.

" It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam," said he ;
"when my friend, Mr. Rochester, is from home; but I arrive
from a very long journey, and I think I may presume so far on
old and intimate acquaintance as to instal myself here till he
returns."

His manner was polite ; his accent, in speaking, struck me as
being somewhat unusual — not precisely foreign, but still not
altogether English : his age might be about Mr. Rochester's —
between thirty and forty ; his complexion was singularly sallow :
otherwise he was a fine-looking man, at first sight especially.
On closer examination, you detected something in his face that
displeased; or rather, that failed to please. His features were
regular, but too relaxed : his eye was large and well cut, but
the life looking out of it was a tame, vacant life — at least so I
thought.

The sound of the dressing-bell dispersed the party. It was not
till after dinner that I saw him again : he then seemed quite at
his ease. But I liked his physiognomy even less than before : it
srruck me as being, at the same time, unsettled and inanimate.
His eye wandered, and had no meaning in its wandering : this
gave him an odd look, such as I never remembered to have seen.
For a handsome and not an unamiable-looking man, he repelled
me exceedingly : there was no power in that smooth-skinned face
of a full oval shape ; no firmness in that acquiline nose, and small,
cherry mouth ; there was no thought on the low, even forehead ;
no command in that blank, brown eye.

As I sat in my usual nook, and looked at him with the light of
the girandoles on the mantelpiece beaming full over him— for he
occupied an arm-chair, drawn close to the fire, and kept shrink-
ing still nearer, as if he were cold — I compared him with Mr.
Rochester. I think (with deference be it spoken) the contrast
could not be much greater between a sleek gander and a fierce
falcon : between a meek sheep and the rough-coated keen-eyed
dog, its guardian.

He had spoken of Mr. Rochester as an old friend. A curious
friendship theirs must have been : a pointed illustration indeed,
of the old adage that " extremes meet."

Two or three of the gentlemen sat near him, and I caught at
times scraps of their conversation across the room. At first I

JANE EYRE. l6l

could not make much sense of what I heard ; for the discourse of
Louisa Eshton and Mary Ingram, who sat nearer to me, con-
fused the fragmentary sentences that reached me at intervals.
These last were discussing the stranger : they both called him a
"beautitul man." Louisa said he was a "love of a creature,"
and she "adored him:" and Mary instanced his "pretty little
mouth, and nice nose," as her ideal of the charming.

" And what a sweet-tempered forehead he has ?" cried Louisa
— "so smooth — none of those frowning irregularities I dislike so
much : and such a placid eye and smile 1"

And then, to my great relief, Mr. Henry Lynn summoned them
to the other side of the room, to settle some point about the
deferred excursion to Hay Common.

I was now able to concentrate my attention on the group by the
fire, and I presently gathered that the new comer was called Mr.
Mason : then I learned that he was but just arrived in England,
and that he came from some hot country : which was the reason,
doubtless, his face was so sallow, and that he sat so near the
hearth, and wore a surtout in the house. Presently the words
Jamaica, Kingston, Spanish Town, indicated the West Indies as
nis residence ; and it was with no little surprise I gathered, ere
long, that he had there first seen and become acquainted with
Mr. Rochester. He spoke of his friend's dislike of the burning
heats, the hurricanes, and rainy seasons of that region. I knew
Mr. Rochester had been a traveller : Mrs. Fairfax had said so ;
but I thought the continent of Europe had bounded his wander-
ings ; till uow I had never heard a hint given of visits to more
distant shores.

I was pondering these things, when an incident, and a some-
what unexpected one, broke the thread of my musings. Mr.
Mason, shivering as some one chanced to open the door, asked
for more coal to be put on the fire, which had burnt out its flame,
though its mass of cinder still shone hot and red. The footman
who brought the coal, in going- out, stopped near Mr. Eshton's
chair, and said something to him in a low voice, of which I heard
only the words, " old woman " — " quite troublesome."

"Tell her she shall be put in the stocks if she does not take
herself off," replied the magistrate.

"No— stop 1" interrupted Colonel Dent. "Don't send her
away, Eshton ; we might turn the thing to account ; better con-
sult the ladies." And speaking aloud, he continued, " Ladies,
you talk of going to Hay Common to visit the gppsy camp ; Sam,
here, says that one of the old Mother Bunches is in the servants'
hall at this moment, and insists upon being brought in before
* the quality,' to tell them their fortunes. Would you like to see
her?' 7

" Surely, colonel," cried Lady Ingram, "you would not
encourage such a low impostor ? Dismiss her, by all means, at
once!"

" But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady," said the

K

l62 JANE EYRE.

footman; "nor can any of-the servants : Mrs. Fairfax is with her
just now, entreating her to be gone ; but she has taken a chair in
the chimney-corner, and says nothing shall stir her from it till
she gets leave to come in here."

"What does she want," asked Mrs. Eshton.

" ' To tell the gentry their fortunes,' she says, ma'am ; and she
swears she must and will do it."

" What is she like ?" inquired the Misses Eshton in a breath.

"A shockingly ugly old creature, Miss : almost as black as a
crock."

"Why, she's a real sorceress!" cried Frederick Lynn. "Let
us have her in, of course."

"To be sure," rejoined his brother; "it would be a thousand
pities to throw away such a chance of fun."

"My dear boys, what are you thinking about?" exclaimed
Mrs. Lynn.

" I cannot possibly countenance any such inconsistent pro-
ceeding," chimed in the Dowager Ingram.

"Indeed, mamma, but you can — and will," pronounced the
haughty voice of Blanche, as she turned round on the piano-
stool ; where till now she had sat silent, apparently examining
sundry sheets of music. " I have a curiosity to hear my fortune
told: therefore, Sam, order the beldame forwards."

" My darling Blanche ! recollect "

"I do — I recollect all you can suggest; and I must have my
will — quick, Sam !"

"Yes — yes — yes!" cried all the juveniles, both ladies and
gentlemen. " Let her come— it will be excellent sport !"

The footman still lingered. "She looks such a rough one,"
said he.

"Go !" ejaculated Miss Ingram, and the man went.

Excitement instantly seized the whole party: a running fire of
raillery and jests was proceeding when Sam returned.

"She won't come now," said he. "She says it's not her
mission to appear before the 'vulgar herd' (them's her words.)
I must show her into a room by herself, and then those who wish
to consult her must go to her one by one."

"You see now, my queenly Blanche," began Lady Ingram,
" she encroaches. Be advised, my angel girl — and "

"Show her into the library, of course," cut in the "angel
girl." " It is not my mission to listen to her before the vulgar
herd either : I mean to have her all to myself. Is there a fire in
the library ?"

"Yes, ma'am — but she looks such a tinkler."

" Cease that chatter, blockhead ! and do my bidding."

Again Sam vanished; and mystery, animation, expectation
rose to full flow once more.

"She's ready now," said the footman, as he reappeared.
" She wishes to know who will be her first visitor."

JANE EYRE. 1 63

" I think I had better just look in upon her before any of the
ladies go," said Colonel Dent.

"Tell her, Sam, a gentleman is coming."

Sam went and returned.

" She says, sir, that she'll have no gentlemen ; they need not
trouble themselves to come near her: nor," he added, with diffi-
culty suppressing a titter, "any ladies either, except the young
and single."

" By Jove, she has taste !" exclaimed Henry Lynn.

Miss Ingram rose solemnly: "I go first," she said, in a tone
which might have befitted the leader of a forlorn hope, mounting
a breach in the van of his men.

"Oh, my best! oh, my dearest 1 pause — reflect I" was her
mamma's cry ; but she swept past her in stately silence, passed
through the door which Colonel Dent held open, and we heard
her enter the library.

A comparative silence ensued. Lady Ingram thought it "le
cas" to wring her hands: which she did accordingly. Miss
Mary declared she felt, for her part, she never dared venture.
Amy and Louisa Eshton tittered under their breath, and looked a
little frightened.

The minutes passed very slowly : fifteen were counted before
the library-door again opened. Miss Ingram returned to us
through the arch.

Would she laugh ? Would she take it as a joke ? All eyes
met her with a glance of eager curiosity, and she met all eyes
with one of rebuff and coldness : she looked neither flurried nor
merry ; she walked stiffly to her seat, and took it in silence.

"Well, Blanche?" said Lord Ingram.

"What did she say, sister?" asked Mary.

"What did you think? How do you feel? Is she a real
fortune-teller?" demanded the Misses Eshton.

"Now, now, good people," returned Miss Ingram, "don't
press upon me. Really your organs of wonder and credulity are
easily excited: you seem by the importance you all— my good
mamma included — ascribe to this matter — absolutely to believe
we have a genuine witch in the house, who is in close alliance
with the old gentleman. I have seen a gipsy- vagabond ; she
has practised in hackneyed fashion the science of palmistry, and
told me what such people usually tell. My whim is gratified ;
and now I think Mr. Eshton will do well to put the hag in the
stocks to-morrow morning as he threatened."

Miss Ingram took a book, leant back in her chair, and so
declined further conversation. I watched her for nearly half an
hour: during all that time she never turned a page, and hei
face grew momently darker, more dissatisfied, and more sourly
expressive of disappointment. She had obviously not heard
anything to her advantage: and it seemed to me, from her
prolonged fit of gloom and taciturnity, that she herself, not-

164 JANE EYRE.

withstanding her professed indifference, attached undue import-
ance to whatever revelations had been made her.

Meantime, Mary Ingram, Amy and Louisa Eshton, declared
they dared not go alone; and yet they all wished to go. A
negotiation was opened through the medium of the ambassador,
Sam ; and after much pacing to and fro, till, I think, the said
Sam's calves must have ached with the exercise, permission was
at last, with great difficulty, extorted from the rigorous Sybil, for
the three to wait upon her in a body.

Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been : we
heard hysterical giggling and little shrieks proceeding from the
library ; and at the end of about twenty minutes they burst the
door open, and came running across the hall, as if they were
half-scared out of their wits.

"I'm sure she is something not right!" they cried, one and
all. " She told us such things ! She knows all about us !" and
they sank breathless into various seats the gentlemen hastened
to bring them.

Pressed for further explanation, they declared she had told
them of things they had said and done when they were mere
children ; described books and ornaments they had in their
boudoirs at home : keepsakes that different relations had pre-
sented to them. They affirmed that she had even divined their
thoughts, and had whispered in the ear of each the name of the
person she liked best in the world, and informed them of what
they most wished for.

Here the gentlemen interposed with earnest petitions to be
further enlightened on these two last-named points ; but they got
only blushes, ejaculations, tremors, and titters, in return for their
importunity. The matrons, meantime, offered vinaigrettes and
wielded fans ; and again and again reiterated the expression of
their concern that their warning had not been taken in time ; and
the elder gentlemen laughed, and the younger urged their
services on the agitated fair ones.

In the midst of the tumult, and while my eyes and ears were
fully engaged in the scene before me, I heard a hem close at my
elbow : I turned, and saw Sam.

" If you please, Miss, the gipsy declares that there is another
young single lady in the room who has not been to her yet, and
she swears she will not go till she has seen all. I thought it
must be you : there is no one else for it. What shall I tell
her?"

" Oh, I will go by all means," I answered; and I was glad of
the unexpected opportunity to gratify my much-excited curiosity.
I slipped out of the room, unobserved by any eye — for the com-
pany were gathered in one mass about the trembling trio just
returned — and I closed the door quietly behind me.

" If you like, Miss," said Sam, " I'll wait in the hall for you;
and if she frightens you, just call and I'll come in."

JANE EYRE. 165

"No, Sam, return to the kitchen: I am not in the least
afraid." Nor was I; but I was a good deal interested and
excited.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE library looked tranquil enough as I entered it, and the
Sybil — if Sybil she were— was seated snugly enough in an
easy-chair at the chimney-corner. She had on a red cloak and a
black bonnet : or rather, a broad-brimmed gipsy-hat, tied down
with a striped handkerchief under her chin. An extinguished
candle stood on the table : she was bending over the fire, and
seemed reading in a little black book, like a prayer-book, by the
light of the blaze : she muttered the words to herself, as most
old women do, while she read ; she did not desist immediately on
my entrance : it appeared she wished to finish a paragraph.

I stood on the rug and warmed my hands, which were rather
cold with sitting at a distance from the drawing-room fire. I
felt now as composed as ever I did in my life: there was
nothing indeed in the gipsy's appearance to trouble one's calm.
She shut her book and slowly looked up ; her hat-brim partially
shaded her face, yet I could see, as she raised it, that it was a
strange one. It looked all brown and black : elf-locks bristled
out from beneath a white band which passed under her chin, and
came half over her cheeks or rather jaws ; her eye confronted me
at once, with a bold and direct gaze.

II Well, and you want your fortune told ?" she said in a voice
as decided as her glance, as harsh as her features.

" I don't care about it, mother; you may please yourself: but
I ought to warn you — I have no faith."

"It's like your impudence to say so : I expected it of you ; I
heard it in your step as you crossed the threshold."

" Did you ? Yoirve a quick ear."

" I have ; and a quick eye, and a quick brain."

" You need them all in your trade/'

" I do ; especially when I've customers like you to deal with
Why don't you tremble ?"

" I'm not cold."

** Why don't you turn pale ?"

*' I am not sick."

" Why dont you consult my art ?"

"I'm not silly."

The old crone "nichered" a laugh under her bonnet and
bandage : she then drew out a short black pipe, and lighting it,
began to smoke. Having indulged a while in this sedative, she
raised her bent body, took the pipe from her lips, and while
gazing steadily at the fire, said very deliberately :

" You are cold; you are sick ; and you are silly."

l66 JANE EYRE.

" Prove it," I rejoined.

" I will ; in a few words. You are cold : because you are
alone ; no contact strikes the fire from you that is in you. You
are sick : because the best of feelings, the highest and the
sweetest given to man, keeps far away from you. You are silly :
because, suffer as you may, you will not beckon it to approach ;
nor will you stir one step to meet it where it waits for you."

She again put her short black pipe to her lips, and renewed
her smoking with vigour.

" You might say all that to almost any one who you knew lived
as a solitary dependent in a great house."

"I might say it to almost any one; but would it be true of
almost any one ?"

" In my circumstances."

"Yes; just so, in ^wr circumstances: but find me another
precisely placed as you are."

" It would be easy to find you thousands."

"You could scarcely find me one. If you knew it, you are
peculiarly situated : very near happiness — yes, within reach of it.
The materials are all prepared ; there only wants a movement to
combine them. Chance laid them somewhat apart; let them be
once approached, and bliss results."

" I don't understand enigmas. I never could guess a riddle in
my life."

" If you wish me to speak more plainly, show me your palm."

"And I must cross it with silver, I suppose?"

"To be sure."

I gave her a shilling : she put it into an old stocking foot which
she took out of her pocket, and having tied it round and returned
it, she told me to hold out my hand. I did. She approached
her face to the palm, and pored over it without touching it.

" It is too fine," said she. " I can make nothing of such a
hand as that ; almost without lines : besides, what is in a palm ?
Destiny is not written there."

" I believe you," said I.

"No," she continued; "it is in the face — on the forehead,
about the eyes, in the eyes themselves, in the lines of the mouth.
Kneel, and lift up your head."

" Ah ! now you are coming to reality," I said, as I obeyed her.
" I shall begin to put some faith in you presently."

I knelt within half a yard of her. She stirred the fire, so that
a ripple of light broke from the disturbed coal ; the glare, how-
ever, as she sat, only threw her face into deeper shadow ; mine
it illumined.

" I wonder with what feelings you came to me to-night,"
she said, when she had examined me a while. " I wonder what
thoughts are busy in your heart during all the hours you sit in
yonder room, with the fine people flitting before you like shapes
in a magic lantern : just as little sympathetic communion passing

JANE EYRE. 167

between you and them, as if they were really mere shadows of
human forms and not the actual substance."

" I feel tired often, sleepy sometimes; but seldom sad."

" Then you have some secret hope to buoy you up and please
you with whispers of the future?"

" Not I. The utmost I hope is, to save money enough out of
my earnings to set up a school some day in a little house rented
by myself."

" A mean nutriment for the spirit to exist on: and sitting in
that window- seat (you see I know your habits) "

"You have learned them from the servants."

"Ahl you think yourself sharp. Well— perhaps I have: to
speak truth, I have an acquaintance with one of them — Mrs.
Poole "

I started to my feet when I heard the name.

" You have— have you ?" thought I ; " there is diablerie in the
business after all, then I"

" Don't be alarmed," continued the strange being; "she's a
safe hand, is Mrs. Poole : close and quiet : any one may repose
confidence in her. But, as I was saying : sitting in that window-
scat, do you think of nothing but your future school ? Have you
no present interest in any of the company who occupy the sofas
and chairs before you "> Is there not one face you study ? One
figure whose movements you follow with, at least, curiosity ?"

" I like to observe all trie faces, and all the figures."

" But do you never single one from the rest— or, it may be,
two?"

•• I do frequently: when the gestures or looks of a pair seem
telling a tale : it amuses me to watch them."

" VVhat tale do you like best to hear?"

"Oh, I have not much choice! They generally run on the
same theme— courtship ; and promise to end in the same
catastrophe — marriage."

" And do vou like that monotonous theme ?"

" Positively, I don't care about it: it is nothing to me."

" Nothing to you ? When a lady, young and full of life and
health, charming with beauty and endowed with the gifts of rank
and fortune, sits and smiles m the eyes of a gentleman you "

"I what?"

"You know — and, perhaps, think well of."

" I don't know the gentlemen here. I have scarcely inter-
changed a syllable with one of them ; and as to thinking well of
them, I consider some respectable and stately, and middle-aged,
and others young, dashing, handsome and lively : but certainly
they are all at liberty to be the recipients of whose smiles they
please, without my feeling disposed to consider the transaction
of any moment to me."

"You don't know the gentlemen here? You have not
exchanged a syllable with one of thorn ? Will you say that of
the master of the house ?"

l68 JANE EYRE,

" He is not at home."

" A profound remark ! A most ingenious quibble ! He went
to Millcote this morning, and will be back here to-night, or to-
morrow: does that circumstance exclude him from the list of
your acquaintance — blot him, as it were out of existence ?"

" No : but I can scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has to do
with the theme you had introduced."

" I was talking of ladies smiling in the eyes of gentlemen ; and
of late so many smiles have been shed into Mr. Rochester's eyes
that they overflow like two cups filled above the brim : have you
never remarked that ?"

" Mr. Rochester has a right to enjoy the society of his guests."

"No question about his right: but have you never observed
that of all the tales told here about matrimony, Mr. Rocherter
has been favoured with the most lively and the most continuous ?"

"The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narra-
tor." I said this rather to myself than to the gipsy; whose
strange talk, voice, manner, had by this time wrapped me in a
kind of dream. One unexpected sentence came from her lips
after another, till I got involved in a web of mystification ; and
wondered what unseen spirit had been sitting for weeks by my
heart watching its workings, and taking record of every pulse.

" Eagerness of a listener !" repeated she: "yes; Mr. Roches-
ter has sat by the hour, his ear inclined to the fascinating lips
that took such delight in their task of communicating : and Mr.
Rochester was so willing to receive and looked so grateful for the
pastime given him : you have noticed this ?"

"Grateful! I cannot remember detecting gratitude in his
face."

" Detecting ! You have analysed, then. And what did you
detect, if not gratitude ?"

I said nothing.

"You have seen love: have you not? — and, looking forward,
you have seen him married, and beheld his bride happy?"

"Humph! Not exactly. Your witch's skill is rather at fault
sometimes."

" What the devil have you seen, then ?"

"Nevermind: I came here to inquire, not to confess. Is it
known that Mr. Rochester is to be married ?"

"Yes ; and to the beautiful Miss Ingram."

"Shortly?"

" Appearances would warrant that conclusion; and, no doubt
(though, with an audacity that wants chastising out of you, you
seem to question it), they will be a superlatively happy pair. He
must love such a handsome, noble, witty, accomplished lady;
and probably she loves him : or, if not his person, at least his
purse. I know she considers the Rochester estate eligible to the
last degree; though (God pardon me !) I told her something on
that point about an hour ago, which made her look wondrous
grave : the corners of her mouth fell half an inch. I would

JANE EYRE. 169

advise her blackaviced suitor to look out : if another comes, with
a longer or clearer rent-roll— he's dished "

" But, mother, I did not come to hear Mr. Rochester's
fortune : I came to hear my own ; and you have told me nothing
of it."

" Your fortune is yet doubtful : when I examined your face, one
trait contradicted another. Chance has meted you a measure of
happiness; that I know. I knew it before I came here this
evening. She has laid it carefully on one side for you. I saw
her do it. It depends on yourself to stretch out your hand, and
take it up : but whether you will do so, is the problem I study.
Kneel again on the rug.

" Don't keep me long; the fire scorches me."

I knelt. She did not stoop towards me, but only gazed, leaning
back in her chair. She began muttering :

"The flame flickers in the eye; the eye shines like dew; it
looks soft and full of feeling; it smiles at my iargon : it is sus-
ceptible ; impression follows impression through its clear sphere ;
where it ceases to smile, it is sad; an unconscious lassitude
weighs on the lid : that signifies melancholy resulting from lone-
liness. It turns from me ; it will not suffer farther scrutiny ; it
seems to deny, by a mocking glance, the truth of the discoveries
I have already made— to disown the charge both of sensibility
and chagrin : its pride and reserve only confirm me in my
opinion. The eye is favourable.

"As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter; it is dis-
posed to impart all that the brain conceives ; though I dare say
it would be silent on much the heart experiences. Mobile and
flexible, it was never intended to be compressed in the eternal
silence of solitude : it is a mouth which should speak much and
smile often, and have human affection for its interlocutor. That
feature too is propitious.

" I see no enemy to a fortunate issue but in the brow; and that
brow professes to say — ' I can live alone, if self-respect and cir-
cumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy
bliss. I have an inward treasure, born with me, which can keep
me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld ; or offered
only at a price I cannot afford to give.' The forehead declares,
1 Reason sits firm and holds the reins, and she will not let the
feelings burst away and hurry her to wild chasms. The passions
may rage furiously, like true heathens as they are; and the
desires may imagine all sorts of vain things : but judgment shall
still have the last word in every argument, and the casting vote
in every decisian. Strong wind, earthquake-shock, and fire may
pass by : but I shall follow the guiding of that still small voice
which interprets the dictates of conscience.'

"Well said, forehead; your declaration shall be respected. I
have formed my plans— right plans I deem them—and in them I
have attended to the claims of conscience, the counsels of reason.
I know how soon youth would fade and bloom perish, if, in the

170 JANE EYRE.

cup of bliss offered, but one dreg of shame, or one flavour of
remorse were detected; and I do not want sacrifice, sorrow,
dissolution — such is not my taste. I wish to foster, not to blight
— to earn gratitude, not to wring tears of blood — no, nor of brine :
my harvest must be in smiles, in endearments, in sweet. — That
will do. I think I rave in a kind of exquisite delirium. I should
wish now to protract this moment ad infinitum; but I dare not.
So far I have governed myself thoroughly. I have acted as I
inwardly swore I would act ; but farther might try me beyond my
strength. Rise, Miss Eyre : leave, me ; ' the play is played out.' "

Where was I ? Did I wake or sleep ? Had I been dreaming ?
Did I dream still? The old woman's voice had changed: her
accent, her gesture, and all were familiar to me as my own face
in a glass — as the speech of my own tongue. I got up, but did
not go. I looked ; I stirred the fire, and looked again : but she
drew her bonnet and bandage closer about her face, and again
beckoned me to depart. The flame illuminated her hand
stretched out : roused now, and on the alert for discoveries, I at
once noticed that hand. It was no more the withered limb of
eld than my own ; it was a rounded supple member, with smooth
fingers, symmetrically turned ; a broad ring flashed on the little
finger, and, stooping forward, I looked at it, and saw a gem I
had seen a hundred times before. Again I looked at the face,
which was no longer turned from me— on the contrary, the bonnet
was doffed, the bandage displaced, the head advanced.

" Well, Jane, do you know me ?" asked the familiar voice.

" Only take off the red cloak, sir, and then "

" But the string is in a knot — help me."

"Break it, sir."

"There, then— * Off, ye tendings!'" And Mr. Rochester
stepped out of his disguise.

" Now, sir, what a strange idea !"

" But well carried out, eh ? Don't you think so ?"

"With the ladies you must have managed well."

" But not with you ?"

"You did not act the character of a gipsy with me."

" What character did I act ? My own ?"

"No: some unaccountable one. In short I believe you have
been trying to draw me out — or in. You have been talking non-
sense to make me talk nonsense. It is scarcely fair, sir."

" Do you forgive me, Jane ?"

" I cannot tell till I have thought it all over. If, on reflection,
I find I have fallen into no great absurdity, I shall try to forgive
you ; but it was not right."

"Oh! you have been very correct — very careful, very
sensible."

I reflected, and thought, on the whole, I had. It was a com-
fort: but, indeed, I had been on my guard almost from the
beginning of the interview. Something of masquerade I sus-
pected. I knew gipsies and fortune-tellers did not express them-

JANE EYRE. 171

selves as this seeming old woman had expressed herself; besides,
I had noticed her feigned voice, her anxiety to conceal her
features. But ray mind had been running on Grace Poole — that
living enigma, that mystery of mysteries, as I considered her. I
had never thought of Mr. Rochester.

"Well," said he, "what are you musing about? What docs
that grave smile signify?"

" Wonder and self-congratulation, sir. I have your permission
to retire now, I suppose.'"

"No; stay a moment; and tell me what the people in the
drawing-room yonder are doing."
" Discussing the gipsy, I dare say."
" Sit down ! Let me hear what they said about me."
" I had better not stay long, sir ; it must be near eleven o'clock.
Oh, are you aware, Mr. Rochester, that a stranger has arrived
here since you left this morning?"

" A stranger 1 — no ; who can it be ? I expected no one. Is he
gone?"

" No ; he said he had known you long, and that he could take
the liberty of installing himself here till you returned."
" The devil he did ! Did he give his name ?"
"His name is Mason, sir; and he comes from the West
Indies— from Spanish Town, in Jamaica, I think."

Mr. Rochester was standing near me ; he had taken my hand,
as if to lead me to a chair. As I spoke, he gave my wrist a con-
vulsive grip ; the smile on his lips froze : apparently a spasm
caught his breath.

"Mason! — the West Indies!" he said, in the tone one might
fancy a speaking automaton to enounce its single words;
"Mason! — the West Indies 1" he reiterated ; and he went over
the syllables three times, growing in the intervals of speaking,
whiter than ashes: he hardly seemed to know what he was
doing.
" Do you feel ill, sir?" I inquired.

"Jane, I've got a blowl — I've got a blow, Jane I" He
staggered.
" Oh I— lean on me, sir!"

" Jane, you offered me your shoulder once before — let me have
it now."
" Yes, sir, yes ; and my arm."

He sat down, and made me sit beside him. Holding my hand
in both his own, he chafed it, gazing on me, at the same time,
with the most troubled and dreary look.

" My little friend I" said he, " I wish I were in a quiet island
with only you ; and trouble, and danger, and hideous recollec-
tions, removed from me."
" Can I help you, sir?— I'd give my life to serve you !"
"Jane, if aid is wanted, I'll seek it at your hands; I promise
you that."

172 JANE EYRE.

"Thank you, sir; tell me what to do— I'll try, at least, to do
it."

" Fetch me now, Jane, a glass of wine from the dining-room :
they will be at supper there ; and tell me if Mason is with them,
and what he is doing. ' '

I went. I found all the party in the dining-room at supper, as
Mr. Rochester had said; they were not seated at table — the
supper was arranged on the side-board ; each had taken what he
chose, and they stood here and there in groups, their plates and
glasses in their hands. Every one seemed in high glee :
laughter and conversation were general and animated. Mr.
Mason stood near the fire, talking to Colonel and Mrs. Dent,
and appeared as merry as any of them. I filled a wineglass (I
saw Miss Ingram watch me frowningly as I did so : she thought
I was taking a liberty, I dare say,) and I returned to the library.

Mr. Rochester's extreme pallor had disappeared, and he
looked once more firm and stern. He took the glass from my
hand.

"Here is to your health, ministrant spirit!" he said: he
swallowed the contents and returned it to me. " What are they
doing, Jane ?"

" Laughing and talking, sir."

" They don't look grave and mysterious, as if they had heard
something strange ?"

" Not at all : they are full of jests and gaiety."

"And Mason?"

" He was laughing too."

" If all these people came in a body and spat at me, what
would you do, Jane ?"

" Turn them out of the room, sir, if I could."

He half smiled. " But if I were to go to them, and they only
looked at me coldly, and whispered sneeringly amongst each
other, and then dropt off and left me one by one, what then ?
Would you go with them ?"

"I rather think not, sir: I should have more pleasure in
staying with you."

"To comfort me?"

" Yes, sir, to comfort you, as well as I could."

" And if they laid you under a ban for adhering to me ?"

"I probably, should know nothing about their ban; and if I
did I should care nothing about it."

" Then you could dare censure for my sake ?"

" I could dare it for the sake of any friend who deserved my
adherence; as you, I am sure, do."

" Go back now into the room ; step quietly up to Mason, and
whisper in his ear that Mr. Rochester is come and wishes to see
him : show him in here and then leave me."

"Yes, sir."

I did his behest. The company all stared at me as I passed
among them. I sought Mr. Mason, delivered the message, and

JANE EYRE. 173

preceeded him from the room ; I ushered him into the library,
and then I went upstairs.

At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time, I heard the
visitors repair to their chambers: I distinguished Mr.
Rochester's voice, and heard him say, "This way, Mason; this
is your room."

He spoke cheerfully : the gay tones set my heart at ease. I
was soon asleep.

I

CHAPTER XX.

HAD forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually did;
and also to let down my window-blind. The consequence
was, that when the moon, which was full and bright (for the
night was fine,) came in her course to that space in the sky
opposite my casement, and looked in at me through the unveiled
panes, her glorious gaze roused me. Awaking in the dead of
night, I opened my eyes on her disk— silver-white and crystal-
clear. It was beautiful, but too solemn: I half rose, and
stretched my arm to draw the curtain.

Good Goa ! What a cry !

The night— its silence — its rest, was rent in twain by a savage,
a sharp, a shrilly sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield
Hall.

My pulse stopped : my heart stood still : my stretched arm
was paralysed. The cry died, and was not renewed. Indeed,
whatever being uttered that fearful shriek could not soon repeat
it ; not the widest-winged condor on the Andes could, twice in
succession, send out such a yell from the cloud shrouding his
eyrie. The thing delivering such utterance must rest ere it
could repeat the effort.

It came out of the third story ; for it passed overhead. And
overhead — yes, in the room just above my chamber-ceiling — I
now heard a struggle : a deadly one it seemed from the noise ;
and a half-smothered voice shouted —

"Help! help! help!" three times rapidly.

"Will no one come?" it cried. And then, while the stagger-
ing and stamping went on wildly, I distinguished through plank
and plaster :

" Rochester ! Rochester ! for God's sake, come !"

A chamber-door opened : some one ran, or rushed along the
gallery. Another step stamped on the flooring above, and some-
thing fell ; and there was silence.

I had put on some clothes, though horror shook all my limbs.
I issued from my apartment. The sleepers were all aroused:
ejaculations, terrified murmurs, sounded in every room : door
after door unclosed ; one looked out, and another looked out ;

174 JANE EYRE.

the gallery filled. Gentlemen and ladies alike had quitted their
beds. And " Oh ! what is it?"— "Who is hurt?"—" What has
happened?"— "Fetch a light 1"—" Is it fire?"— "Are there
robbers?" — " Where shall we run?" was demanded confusedly
on all hands. But for the moonlight they would have been in
complete darkness. They ran to and fro ; they crowded
together: some sobbed, some stumbled. The confusion was
inextricable.

"Where the devil is Rochester?" cried Colonel Dent. "I
cannot find him in his bed."

"Here! here!" was shouted in the return. "Be composed,
all of you. I am coming."

And the door at the end of the gallery opened, and Mr.
Rochester advanced with a candle : he had just descended from
the upper story. One of the ladies ran to him directly : she
seized his arm : it was Miss Ingram.

"What awful event has taken place?" said she. "Speak!
let us know the worst at once !"

" But don't pull me down or strangle me," he replied : for the
Misses Eshton were clinging about him now ; and the two
dowagers, in vast white wrappers, were bearing down on him like
ships in full sail.

"All's right! — all's right!" he cried. "It's a mere rehearsal
of ' Much Ado About Nothing.' Ladies keep off, or 1 shall wax
dangerous."

And dangerous he looked; his black eyes darted sparks.
Calming himself by an effort, he added :

"A servant has had the nightmare — that is all. She's an
excitable, nervous person: she construed her dream into an
apparition, or something of that sort, no doubt, and has taken a
fit with fright. Now then, I must see you all back into your
rooms ; for, till the house is settled, she cannot be looked after.
Gentlemen have the goodness to set the ladies the example.
Miss Ingram, I am sure you will not fail in evincing superiority
to idle terrors. Amy and Louisa, return to your nests like a pair
of doves, as you are. Mesdames" (to the dowagers,) "you will
take cold to a dead certainty if you stay in this chill gallery any
longer.

And so, by dint of alternate coaxing and commanding, he con-
trived to get them all once more enclosed in their separate
dormitories. I did not wait to be ordered back to mine, but
retreated unnoticed : as unnoticed I had left it.

Not, however, to go to bed: on the contrary, I began and
dressed myself carefully. The sounds I had heard after the
scream, and the words that had been uttered, had probably been
heard only by me, for they had proceeded from the room above
mine : but they assured me that it was not a servant's dream
which had thus struck horror through the house, and that the
explanation Mr. Rochester had given was merely an invention
framed to pacify his guests. I dressed, then, to be ready for

JANE EYRE. 175

emergencies. When dressed, I sat a long time by the window,
looking out over the silent grounds and silvered fields, and wait-
ing for I knew not what. It seemed to me that some event must
follow the strange cry, struggle, and call.

No; stillness returned. Each murmur and movement ceased
gradually, and in about an hour Thornfield Hall was again as
hushed as a desert. It seemed that sleep and night had
resumed their empire. Meantime the moon declined : she was
about to set. Not liking to sit in the cold and darkness, I
thought I would lie down on my bed, dressed as I was, I left the
window, and moved with little noise across the carpet. As I
stooped to take off my shoes, a cautious hand tapped low at the
door.

" Am I wanted ?" I asked.

"Are you up?" asked the voice I expected to hear— viz., m)
master's.

"Yes, sir."

••And dressed?"

••Yes."

"Come out, then, quietly."

I obeyed. Mr. Rochester stood in the gallery, holding a
light.

" I want you," he said : " come this way : take your time, and
make no noise."

My slippers were thin : I could walk the matted floor as softly
as a cat. He glided up the gallery and up the stairs, and
stopped in the dark, low corridor of the fateful third story : I had
followed and stood at his side.

" Have you a sponge in your room ?" he asked in a whisper.

"Yes, sir."

" Have you any salts — volatile salts ?"

"Yes."

" Go back and fetch both."

I returned, sought the sponge on the washstand, the salts in
my drawer, and once more retraced my steps. He still waited ;
he held a key in his hand : approaching one of the small, black
doors, he put it in the lock ; he paused and addressed me again.

" You don't turn sick at the sight of blood ?"

" I think I shall not : I have never been tried yet."

I felt a thrill while I answered him ; but no coldness, and no
faintness.

"Just give me your hand," he said; "it will not do to risk a
fainting fit."

I put my fingers into his. "Warm and steady," was his
remark : he turned the key and opened the door.

I saw a room I remembered to have seen before ; the day Mrs.
Fairfax showed me over the house : it was hung with tapestry ;
but the tapestry was now looped up in one part, and there was a
door apparent, which had then been concealed. This door was
open ; a light shone out of the room within : I heard thence a

176 JANE EYRE.

snarling, snatching sound, almost like a dog quarrelling. Mr.
Rochester, putting down his candle, said to me, "Wait a
minute," and he went forward to the inner apartment. A shout
of laughter greeted his entrance : noisy at first, and * terminating
in Grace Poole's own goblin ha ! ha ! She then was there. He
made some sort of arrangement, without speaking: though I
heard a low voice address him : he came out and closed the door
behind him.

" Here, Jane!" he said; and I walked round to the other side
of a large bed, which with its drawn curtains concealed a con-
siderable portion of the chamber. An easy-chair was near the
bed-head ; a man sat in it, dressed with the exception of his
coat, he was still ; his head leant back ; his eyes were closed.
Mr. Rochester held the candle over him ; I recognised in his
pale and seemingly lifeless face — the stranger, Mason : I saw
too that his linen on one side, and one arm, was almost soaked
in blood.

"Hold the candle," said Mr. Rochester, and I took it; he
fetched a basin of water from the washstand : " Hold that," said
he. I obeyed. He took the sponge, dipped it in and moistened
the corpse-like face : he asked for my smelling-bottle, and
applied it to the nostrils. Mr. Mason shortly unclosed his eyes ;
he groaned. Mr. Rochester opened the shirt of the wounded
man, whose arm and shoulder were bandaged : he sponged away
blood, trickling fast down..

" Is there immediate danger?" murmured Mr. Mason.

"Pooh! No — a mere scratch. Don't be so overcome, man:
bear up! I'll fetch a surgeon for you now, myself: you'll be
able to be removed by morning, I hope. Jane," he con-
tinued.

"Sir?"

" I shall have to leave you in this room with this gentleman,
for an hour, or perhaps two hours ; you will sponge the blood as
I do when it returns ; if he feels faint, you will put the glass of
water on that stand to his lips, and your salts to his nose. You
will not speak to him on any pretext ; and — Richard — it will be
at the peril of your life if you speak to her : open your lips —
agitate yourself — and I'll not answer for the consequences."

Again the poor man groaned : he looked as if he dared not
move: fear, either of death or of something else, appeared
almost to paralyse him. Mr. Rochester put the now bloody
sponge into my hand, and I proceeded to use it as he had done.
He watched me a second, then saying, —

" Remember! No conversation," he left the room. I experi-
enced a strange feeling as the key grated in the lock, and the
sound of his retreating step ceased to be heard.

Here then I was in the third story, fastened into one of its
mystic cells; night around me; a pale and bloody spectacle
under my eyes and hands ; a murderess hardly separated from
me by a single door: yes — that was appalling — the rest I

JANE EYRE. 177

could bear; but I shuddered at the thought of Grace Poole
bursting out upon me.

I must keep to my post, however. I must watch this ghastly
countenance — these blue, still lips forbidden to unclose— these
eyes now shut, now opening, now wandering through the room,
now fixing on me, and ever glazed with the dulness of horror. I
must dip my hand again and again in the basin of blood and
water, and wipe away the trickling gore. I must see the light of
the unsnuffed candle wane on my employment; the shadows
darken on the wrought, antique tapestry round me, and grow
black under the hangings of the vast old bed, and quiver
strangely over the doors of a great cabinet opposite whose front,
divided into twelve panels, bore in grim design the heads of the
twelve apostles, each enclosed in its separate panel as in a
frame : while above them at the top rose an ebon crucifix and a
dying Christ.

According as the shifting obscurity and flickering gleam
hovered here or glanced there, it was now the bearded physician
Luke, that bent his brow; now St. John's long hair that waved,
and anon the devilish face of Judas, that grew out of the panel,
and seemed gathering life and threatening a revelation of the
arch-traitor — of Satan himself— in his subordinate's form.

Amidst all this, I had to listen as well as watch ; to listen for
the movements of the wild beast or the fiend in yonder side den.
But since Mr. Rochester's visit it seemed spell-bound : all the
night I heard but three sounds at three long intervals— a step
creak, a momentary renewal of the snarling, canine noise, and a
deep human groan.

Then my own thoughts worried me. What crime was this,
that lived incarnate in this sequestered mansion, and could
neither be expelled nor subdued by the owner ? What mystery,
that broke out, now in fire and now in blood, at the deadest
hours of night ? What creature was it, that, masked in an or-
dinary woman's face and shape, uttered the voice, now of a
mocking demon, and anon of a carrion-seeking bird of prey ?

And this man I bent over — this commonplace, quiet stranger —
how had he become involved in the web of horror ? and why had
the Fury flown at him ? What made him seek this quarter of
the house at an untimely season, when he should have been
asleep in bed ? I had heard Mr. Rochester assign him an apart-
ment below — what brought him here ? And why, now, was he
so tame under the violence or treachery done him ? Why did he
so quietly submit to the concealment Mr. Rochester enforced ?
Why did Mr. Rochester enforce this concealment ? His guest
had been outraged, his own life on a former occasion had Deen
hideously plotted against ; and both attempts he smothered in
secrecy and sank in oblivion 1 Lastly, I saw Mr. Mason was
submissive to Mr. Rochester; that the impetuous will of the
latter held complete sway over the inertness of the former: the
few words whicn had passed between them assured me of this.

L

178 JANE EYRE.

It was evident that in their former intercourse, the passive dispo-
sition of the one had been habitually influenced by the active
energy of the other: whence then had arisen Mr. Rochester's
dismay when he heard of Mr. Mason's arrival ? Why had the
mere name of this unresisting individual — whom his word now
sufficed to control like a child — fallen on him, a few hours since,
as a thunder-bolt might fall on an oak ?

Oh ! I could not forget his look and his paleness when he
whispered: "Jane, I have got a blow! — I have got a blow,
Jane !" I could not forget how the arm had trembled which he
rested on my shoulder : and it was no light matter which could
thus bow the resolute spirit and thrill the vigorous frame of
Fairfax Rochester.

" When will he come ? When will he come ?" I cried inwardly,
as the night lingered and lingered — as my bleeding patient
drooped, moaned, sickened : and neither day nor aid arrived. I
had, again and again, held the water to Mason's white lips;
again and again offered him the stimulating salts : my efforts
seemed ineffectual ; either bodily or mental suffering, or loss of
blood, or all three combined, were fast prostrating his strength.
He moaned so, and looked so weak, wild, and lost, I feared he
was dying ; and I might not even speak to him !

The candle, wasted at last, went out; as it expired I per-
ceived streaks of grey light edging the window curtains ; dawn
was then approaching. Presently I heard Pilot bark far below,
out of his distant kennel in the courtyard; hope revived. Nor
was it unwarranted : in five minutes more the grating key, the
yielding lock, warned me my watch was relieved. It could
not have lasted more than two hours : many a week has seemed
shorter.

Mr. Rochester entered, and with him the surgeon he had been
to fetch.

" Now, Carter, be on the alert," he said to this last. " I give
you but half an hour for dressing the wound, fastening the band-
ages, getting the patient downstairs and all."

" But is he fit to move, sir ?"

"No doubt of it: it is nothing serious: he is nervous, his
spirits must be kept up. Come, set to work."

Mr. Rochester drew back the thick curtain, drew up the
holland blind, let in all the daylight he could; and I was
surprised and cheered to see how far dawn was advanced :
what rosy streaks were beginning to brighten the east. Then
he approached Mr. Mason, whom the surgeon was already
handling.

" Now, my good fellow, how are you ?" he asked.

" She's done for me, I fear," was the faint reply.

" Not a whit ! — courage ! This day fortnight you'll hardly be
a pin the worse of it, you've lost a little blood, that's all. Carter,
assure him there's no danger."

'* I can do that conscientiously," said Carter, who had now .

JANE EYRE. 179

undone the bandages, " only I wish I could have got here sooner,
he would not have bled so much— but how is this? The flesh on
the shoulder is torn as well as cut. This wound was not done
with a knife: there have been teeth here !"

" She bit me," he murmured. " She worried me like a tigTess,
when Rochester got the knife from her."

" You should not have yielded : you should have grappled with
her at once," said Mr. Rochester.

" But under such circumstances what could one do ?" returned
Mason. "Oh, it was frightful," he added, shuddering. "And
I did not expect it: she looked so quiet at first."

"I warned you," was his friend's answer. "I said— be on
your guard when you go near her. Besides, you might have
waited till to-morrow, and had me with you ; it was mere folly to
attempt the interview to-night, and alone."

"I thought I could have done some good."

" You thought 1 you thought 1 Yes ; it makes me impatient to
hear you : but, however, you have suffered, and are likely to
suffer enough for not taking my advice, so I'll say no more.
Carter — hurry I — hurry 1 The sun will soon rise, and I must have
him off."

" Directly, sir; the shoulder is just bandaged. I must look to
this other wound in the arm : she has had her teeth here too,
I think."

" She sucked the blood ! she said she'd drain my heart !" said
Mason.

I saw Mr. Rochester shudder ; a singularly marked expression
of disgust, horror, hatred, warped his countenance almost to
distortion ; but he only said :

"Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her gibberish:
don't repeat it."

" I wish I could forget it," was the answer.

"You will when you are out of the country; when you get
back to Spanish Town, you may think of her as dead and buried
— or, rather, you need not think of her at all."

" Impossible to forget this night!"

" It is not impossible : have some energy, man. You thought
you were as dead as a herring two hours since, and you are all
alive and talking now. There! — Carter has done with you or
nearly so; I'll make you decent in a trice. Jane" (he turned to
me for the first time since his re-entrance), "take this key: go
down to my bedroom, and walk straight forward into my dressing
room; open the top drawer of the wardrobe and take out a
clean shirt and neckhandkerchicf: bring them here, and be
nimble."

I went; sought the repository he had mentioned, found the
articles named, and returned with them.

"Now," said he, "go to the other side of the bed, while I
order his toilet; but don't leave the room : you may be wanted
again."

l8o JANE EYRE.

I retired as directed.

"Was anybody stirring below when you went down, Jane?"
inquired Mr. Rochester, presently.
" No, sir ; all was very still."

" We shall get you off cannily, Dick : and it will be better,
both for your sake and for that of the poor creature in yonder. I
have striven long to avoid exposure, and I should not like it to
come at last. Here, Carter, help him on with his waistcoat.
Where did you leave your furred cloak ? You can't travel a mile
without that, I know, in this damned cold climate. In your
room ? Jane, run down to Mr. Mason's room— the one next
mine— and fetch a cloak you will see there."

Again I ran, and again returned, bearing an immense mantle,
lined and edged with fur.

" Now, I've another errand for you," said my untiring master ;
"you must away to my room again. What a mercy you are
shod with velvet, Jane ! — a clodhopping messenger would never
do at this juncture. You must open the middle drawer of my
toilet-table and take out a little phial and a little glass you will
find there — quick !"

I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels.

" That's well ! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty of admin-
istering a dose myself; on my own responsibility. I got this
cordial at Rome, of an Italian charlatan — a fellow you would
have kicked, Carter. It is not a thing to be used indiscrimin-
ately, but it is good upon occasion : as now, for instance. Jane,
a little water."

He held out the tiny glass, and I half filled it from the water-
bottle on the washstand.

" That will do : now wet the lip of the phial."

I did so : he measured twelve drops of a crimson liquid, and
presented it to Mason.

"Drink, Richard: it will give you the heart you lack, for an
hour or so."

" But will it hurt me ? — is it inflammatory ?"

"Drink! drink! drink!"

Mr. Mason obeyed, because it was evidently useless to resist.
He was dressed now: he still looked pale, but he was no longer
gory and sullied. Mr. Rochester let him sit three minutes after
he had swallowed the liquid : he then took his arm.

" Now I am sure you can get on your feet," he said: "try."

The patient rose.

"Carter, take him under the other shoulder. Be of good
cheer, Richard; step out: that's it!"

" I do feel better," remarked Mr. Mason.

" I am sure you do. Now, Jane, trip on before us away to the
backstairs ; unbolt the side-passage door, and tell the driver of
the post-chaise you will see in the yard — or just outside, for I
told him not to drive his rattling wheels over the pavement — to

JANE EYRE. l8l

be ready; we are coming: and, Jane, if any one is about, come
to the foot of the stairs and hem/'

It was by this time half-past five, and the sun was on the point
of rising; but I found the kitchen still dark and silent. The
side-passage door was fastened ; I opened it with as little noise
as possible : all the yard was quiet ; but the gates stood wide
open, and there was a post-chaise, with horses ready harnessed,
and driver seated on the box, stationed outside. I approached
him, and said the gentlemen were coming ; he nodded : then I
looked carefully round and listened. The stillness of early morn-
ing slumbered everywhere ; the curtains were yet drawn over the
servants' chamber windows ; little birds were just twittering in
the blossom-blanched orchard trees, whose boughs drooped like
white garlands over the wall enclosing one side of the yard : the
carriage horses stamped from time to time in their closed stables :
all else was still.

The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported by Mr.
Rochester and the surgeon, seemed to walk with tolerable ease :
they assisted him into the chaise ; Carter followed.

" Take care of him," said Mr. Rochester to the latter, " and
keep him at your house till he is quite well : I shall ride over in a
day or two to see how he gets on. Richard, how is it with
you?"

"The fresh air revives me, Fairfax."

* Leave the window open on his side, Carter; there is no wind
— good-bye, Dick."

" Fairfax "

"Well, what is it?"

" Let her be taken care of; let her be treated as tenderly as
may be : let her " He stopped and burst into tears.

"I do my best; and have done it, and will do it," was the
answer: he shut up the chaise door, and the vehicle drove away.

"Yet would to uod there was an end of all this 1" added Mr.
Rochester, as he closed and barred the heavy yard gates. This
done, he moved with slow step and abstracted air towards a door
in the wall bordering the orchard. I, supposing he had done
with me, prepared to return to the house: again, however, I
heard him call "Janel" He had opened the portal and stood
at it, waiting for me.

" Come where there is some freshness, for a few moments," he
said ; " that house is a mere dungeon : don't you feel it so ?"

" It seems to me a splendid mansion, sir."

" The glamour of inexperience is over your eyes," he answered ;
" and you see it through a charmed medium : you cannot discern
that the gilding is slime and the silk draperies cobwebs ; that the
marble is sordid slate, and the polished woods mere refuse chips
and scaly bark. Now, here (he pointed to the leafy enclosure
we had entered^ all is real, sweet, and pure."

He strayed aown a walk edged with box; with apple trees,
pear trees, and cherry trees on one side, and a border on the

l82 JANE EYRE*

other, full of all sorts of old-fashioned flowers, stocks, sweet-
williams, primroses, pansies, mingled with southernwood, sweet-
briar, and various fragrant herbs. They were fresh now as a
succession of April showers and gleams, followed by a lovely
spring morning, could make them : the sun was just entering the
dappled east, and his light illumined the wreathed and dewy
orchard trees and shone down the quiet walks under them.

" Jane, will you have a flower ?"

He gathered a half-blown rose, the first on the bush, and
offered it to me.

"Thank you, sir."

" Do you like this sunrise, Jane ? That sky with its high and
light clouds which are sure to melt away as the day waxes warm
— this placid and balmy atmosphere ?"

"I do, very much."

"You have passed a strange night, Jane."

" Yes, sir."

" And it has made you look pale — were you afraid when I left
you alone with Mason ?"

" I was afraid of some one coming out of the inner room."

" But I had fastened the door— I had the key in my pocket : I
should have been a careless shepherd if I had left a lamb — my
pet lamb — so near a wolf's den, unguarded: you were safe."

" Will Grace Poole live here still, sir?"

"Oh, yes! don't trouble your head about her — put the thing
out of your thoughts."

" Yet it seems to me your life is hardly secure while she stays."

" Never fear — I will take care of myself."

" Is the danger you apprehended last night gone by now, sir ?"

" I cannot vouch for that till Mason is out of England : nor
even then. To live, for me, Jane, is to stand on a crater-crust
which may crack and spew fire any day."

" But Mr. Mason seems a man easily led. Your influence, sir,
is evidently potent with him : he will never set you at defiance, or
wilfully injure you."

" Oh, no ! Mason will not defy me ; nor, knowing it, will he
hurt me — but, unintentionally, he might in a moment, by one
careless word, deprive me, if not of life, yet for ever of
happiness."

"Tell him to be cautious, sir: let him know what you fear,
and show him how to avert the danger."

He laughed sardonically, hastily took my hand, and as hastily
threw it from him.

" If I could do that, simpleton, where would the danger be?
Annihilated in a moment. Ever since I have known Mason, I
have only had to say to him ' Do that,' and the thing has been
done. But I cannot give him orders in this case : I cannot say
1 Beware of harming me, Richard;' for it is imperative that I
should keep him ignorant that harm to me is possible. Now you

JANE EYRE. 183

look puzzled ; and I will puzzle you farther. You are my little
friend, are you not ?"

" I like to serve you, sir, and to obey you in all that is right."

" Precisely : I see you do. I see genuine contentment in your
gait and mien, your eye and face, when you are helping me and
pleasing me— working for me, and with me, in, as you character-
istically say, ' all that is right :' for if I bid you do what you
thought wrong, there would be no light-footed running, no neat-
handed alacrity, no lively glance and animated complexion. My
friend would then turn to me, quiet and pale, and would say,
'No, sir; that is impossible: 1 cannot do it, because it is
wrong;' and would become immutable as a fixed star. Well,
you too have power over me, and may injure me : yet I dare not
show you where I am vulnerable, lest, faithful and friendly as
you are, you should transfix me at once."

" If you have no more to fear from Mr. Mason than you have
from me, sir, you are very safe."

"God grant it may be sol Here, Jane, is an arbour; sit
down."

The arbour was an arch in the wail, lined with ivy; it contained
a rustic seat. Mr. Rochester took it, leaving room, however, for
me: but I stood before him.

"Sit," he said; "the bench is long enough for two. You
don't hesitate to take a place at my side, do you? Is that
wrong, Jane?"

I answered him by assuming it : to refuse would, I felt, have
been unwise.

" Now, my little friend, while the sun drinks the dew — while all
the flowers in this old garden awake and expand, and the birds
fetch their young ones breakfast out of the Thornfield, and the
early birds do their first spell of work — I'll put a case to you ;
which you must endeavour to suppose your own : but first, look
at me, and tell me you are at ease, and not fearing that I err in
detaining you, or that you err in staying."

" No, sir: I am content."

" Well then, Jane, call to aid your fancy : — suppose you were
no longer a girl well reared and disciplined, but a wild boy
indulged from childhood upwards ; imagine yourself in a remote
foreign land ; conceive that you there commit a capital error, no
matter of what nature or from what motives, but one whose con-
sequences must follow you through life and taint all your exist-
ence. Mind, I don't say a crime; I am not speaking of shedding
of blood or any other guilty act, which might make the perpetra-
tor amenable to the law : my word is error. The results of what
you have done become in time to you utterly insupportable ; you
take measures to obtain relief: unusual measures, but neither
unlawful nor culpable. Still you are miserable ; for hope has
quitted you on the very confines of life : your sun at noon darkens
in an eclipse, which you feel will not leave it till the time of
setting. Bitter and base associations have become the sole

184 JANE EYRE.

food of your memory; you wander here and there, seeking rest
in exile: happiness in pleasure — I mean in heartless, sensual
pleasure — such as dulls intellect and blights feeling. Heart-
weary and soul-withered, you come home after years of voluntary
banishment ; you make a new acquaintance — how or where no
matter : you find in this stranger much of the good and bright
qualities which you have sought for twenty years, and never
before encountered ; and they are all fresh, healthy, without soil
and without taint. Such society revives, regenerates : you feel
better days come back — higher wishes, purer feelings ; you desire
to recommence your life, and to spend what remains to you of
days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. To attain this
end, are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of custom — a
mere conventional impediment, which neither your conscience
sanctifies nor your judgment approves ?"

He paused for an answer : and what was I to say ? Oh, for
some good spirit to suggest a judicious and satisfactory response !
Vain aspiration ! The west wind whispered in the ivy round me :
but no gentle Ariel borrowed its breath as a medium of speech :
the birds sang in the tree-tops ; but their song however sweet,
was inarticulate.

Again Mr. Rochester propounded his query :

"Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking and
repentant, man justified in daring the world's opinion, in order
to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger ;
thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of
life?"

" Sir," I answered, " a wanderer's repose or a sinner's reform-
ation should never depend on a fellow- creature. Men and
women die ; philosophers falter in wisdom, and Christians in
goodness : if any one you know has suffered and erred, let him
look higher than his equals for strength to amend, and solace to
heal."

"But the instrument — the instrument! God, who does the
work, ordains the instrument. I have myself — I tell you it with-
out parable — been a worldly, dissipated, restless man; and I
believe I have found the instrument for my cure, in "

He paused : the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly
rustling. I almost wondered they did not check their songs and
whispers to catch the suspended revelation : but they would have
had to wait many minutes-^-so long was the silence protracted.
At last I looked up at the tardy speaker ; he was looking eagerly
at me.

" Little friend," said he, in quite a changed tone— while his
face changed too; losing all its softness and gravity, and
becoming harsh and sarcastic — "you have noticed my tender
penchant for Miss Ingram : don't you think if I married her she
would regenerate me with a vengeance ?"

He got up instantly, went quite to the other end of the walk,
and when he came back he was humming a tune.

JANE EYRE. 185

"Jane, Jane," said he, stopping before me, "^ou are quite
pale with your vigils: don't you curse me for disturbing your
rest?" "Curse you? No, sir."

" Shake hands in confirmation of the word. What cold fingers I
They were warmer last night when I touched them at the door of
the mysterious chamber. Jane, when will you watch with me
again?"

" Whenever I can be useful, sir."

" For instance, the night before I am married ! I am sure I
shall not be able to sleep. Will you promise to sit up with me
to bear me company ? To you I can talk of my lovely one : for
now you have seen her and know her."

"Yes, sir."

" She's a rare one, is she not, Jane?"

"Yes, sir."

"A strapper— a real strapper, Jane: big, brown, and buxom ;
with hair just such as the ladies of Carthage must have had.
Bless me 1 there's Dent and Lynn in the stables I Go in by the
shrubbery, through that wicket."

As I went one way, he went another, and I heard him in the
yard, saying cheeringly :

" Mason got the start of you all this morning; he was gone
before sunrise : I rose at four to see him off."

CHAPTER XXI.

PRESENTIMENTS are strange things ! and so are sympa-
thies, and so are signs : and the three combined make one
mystery to which humanity has not yet found the key. I never
laughed at presentiments in my life, because I have had strange
ones of my own. Sympathies, I believe, exist (for instance,
between far-distant, long-absent, wholly estranged relatives:
asserting, notwithstanding their alienation, the unity of the
source to which each traces his origin) whose workings baffle
mortal comprehension. And signs, for ought we know, may be
but the sympathies of Nature with man.

When I was a little girl, only six years old, I one night heard
Bessie Leaven say to Martha Abbott that she had been dreaming
about a little child ; and that to dream of children was a sure
si^n of trouble, either to one's self or one's kin. The saying
might have worn out of my memory, had not a circumstance
immediately followed which served indelibly. to fix it there. The
next day Bessie was sent for home to the death-bed of her little
sister.

Of late, I had often recalled this saying and this incident ; for
during the past week scarcely a night had gone over my couch
that had not brought with it a dream of an infant, which I
sometimes hushed 111 my arms, sometimes dandled on my knee,

l86 JANE EYRE.

sometimes watched playing with daisies on a lawn, or again,
dabbling its hands in running water. It was a wailing child
this night, and a laughing one the next; now it nestled close
to me, and now it ran from me ; but whatever mood the appari-
tion evinced, whatever aspect it wore, it failed not for seven
successive nights to meet me the moment I entered the land of
slumber.

I did not like this iteration of one idea — this strange recur-
rence of one image ; and I grew nervous as bedtime approached,
and the hour of the vision drew near. It was from companion-
ship with this baby-phantom I had been aroused on that moon-
light night when I heard the cry ; and it was on the afternoon
of the day following I was summoned downstairs by a message
that some one wanted me in Mrs. Fairfax's room. On repairing
thither, I found a man waiting for me, having the appearance of
a gentleman's servant : he was dressed in deep mourning, and
the hat he held in his hand was surrounded with a crape band.

"I dare say you hardly remember me, miss," he said, rising
as I entered ; " but my name is Leaven. I lived coachman with
Mrs. Reed when you were at Gateshead, eight or nine years
since, and I live there still."

"Oh, Robert! how do you do? I remember you very well:
you used to give me a ride sometimes on Miss Georgiana's bay
pony. And how is Bessie ? You are married to Bessie ?"

"Yes, miss; my wife is very hearty, thank you; she brought
me another little one about two months since — we have three
now — and both mother and child are thriving ?"

"And are the family well at the house, Robert?"

" I am sorry I can't give you better news of them, miss : they
are very badly at present — in great trouble."

"I hope no one is dead," I said, glancing at his black dress.
He too looked down at the crape round his hat and replied :

"Mr. John died yesterday was a week, at his chambers in
London."

"Mr. John?"

"Yes."

" And how does his mother bear it ?"

"Why you see, Miss Eyre, it is not a common mishap: his
life has been very wild : these last three years he gave himself up
to strange ways ; and his death was shocking."

" I heard from Bessie he was not doing well."

" Doing well ! He could not do worse: he ruined his health
and his estate amongst the worst men and the worst women.
He got into debt and into jail : his mother helped him out twice,
but as soon as he was free he returned to his old companions
and habits. His head was not strong: the knaves he lived
amongst fooled him beyond anything I ever heard. He came
down to Gateshead about three weeks ago and wanted missis
to give up all to him. Missis refused: her means have long
been much reduced by his extravagance : so he went back again,

JANE EYRE. 187

and the next news was that he was dead. How he died, God
knows!— they say he killed himself."

I was silent: the tidings were frightful. Robert Leaven
resumed :

"Missis had been out of health herself for some time: she
had got very stout, but was not strong with it ; and the loss of
money and fear of poverty were quite breaking her down. The
information about Mr. John's death and the manner of it came
too suddenly : it brought on a stroke. She was three days with-
out speaking ; but last Tuesday she seemed rather better : she
appeared as if she wanted to say something, and kept making
signs to my wife and mumbling. It was only yesterday morning,
however, that Bessie understood she was pronouncing your
name ; and at last she made out the words, ' Bring Jane — fetch
Jane Eyre: I want to speak to her.' Bessie is not sure
whether she is in her right mind, or means anything by the
words; but she told Miss Reed and Miss Gorgiana, and
advised them to send for you. The young ladies put it off at
first: but their mother grew so restless, and said, Mane, Jane,'
so many times, that at last they consented. I left Gateshead
yesterday morning; and if you can get ready, miss, I should like
to take you back with me early to-morrow morning."

"Yes, Robert, I shall be ready: it seems to me that I ought
to go."

" I think so too, miss. Bessie said she was sure you would
not refuse : but I suppose you will have to ask leave before you
can get off."

" Yes ; and I will do it now;" and having directed him to the
servants' hall, and recommended him to the care of John's wife
and the attentions of John himself, I went in search of Mr.
Rochester.

He was not in any of the lower rooms ; he was not in the
yard, the stables, or the grounds. I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she
had seen him ; yes, she believed he was playing billiards with
Miss Ingram. To the billiard-room I hastened; the click of
balls and the hum of voices resounded thence : Mr. Rochester,
Miss Ingram, the two Misses Eshton, and their admirers, were
all busied in the game. It required some courage to disturb
so interesting a party; my errand, however, was one I could
not defer, so } approached the master where he stood at Miss
Ingram's side. She turned as I drew near, and looked at me
haughtily: her eyes seemed to demand, "What can the creep-
ing creature want now?" and when I said, in a low voice, " ^l^.
Rochester," she made a movement as if tempted to order me
away. I remember her appearance at the moment— it was very
graceful and very striking: she wore a morning robe of sky-
blue crape ; a gauzy azure scarf was twisted in her hair. She
had been all animation with the game, and irritated pride did
not lower the expression of her haughty lineaments.

" Docs that person want you?" she inquired of Mr. Rochester;

l88 JANE EYRE.

and Mr. Rochester turned to see who the "person" was. He
made a curious grimace — one of his strange and equivocal
demonstrations — threw down his cue, and followed me from the
room.

"Well, Jane?" he said, as he rested his back against the
school-room door, which he had shut.

"If you please, sir, I want leave of absence for a week or
two."

" What to do ? Where to go ?' '

" To see a sick lady who has sent for me."

" What sick lady ? Where does she live ?"

"At Gateshead, in shire."

" shire? That is a hundred miles off! Who may she

be that sends for people to see her that distance ?"

" Her name is Reed, sir — Mrs. Reed."

"Reed of Gateshead? There was a Reed of Gateshead, a
magistrate."

" It is his widow, sir."

"And what have you to do with her? How do you know
her?"

" Mr. Reed was my uncle — my mother's brother."

"The deuce he was! You never told me that before: you
always said you had no relations."

" None that would own me, sir. Mr. Reed is dead, and his
wife cast me off."

"Why?"

" Because I was poor and burdensome, and she disliked me."

" But Reed left children ? — you must have cousins ? Sir
George Lynn was talking of a Reed of Gateshead yesterday —
who, he said, was one of the veriest rascals on town ; and
Ingram was mentioning a Georgiana Reed of the same place,
who was much admired for her beauty, a season or two ago, in
London."

"John Reed is dead, too, sir: he ruined himself, and half-
ruined his family, and is supposed to have committed suicide.
The news so shocked his mother that it brought on an apoplectic
attack."

"And what good can you do her? Nonsense, Jane ! I would
never think of running a hundred miles to see an old lady who
will, perhaps, be dead before you reach her : besides, you say
she cast you off?"

"Yes, sir, but that is long ago ; and when her circumstances
were very different. I could not be easy to neglect her wishes
now."

" How long will you stay ?"

"As short a time as possible, sir."

" Promise me only to stay a week- "

" I had better not pass my word : I might be obliged to break
it,"

JANE EYRE. 189

" At all events, you will come back : you will not be induced
under any pretext to take up a permanent residence with her!"

" Oh no ! I shall certainly return if all be well."

" And who goes with you i You don't travel a hundred miles
alone."

" No, she has sent her coachman."

" A person to be trusted ?"

"Yes, sir; he has lived ten years in the family "

Mr. Rochester meditated. " When do you wish to go ?"

" Early to-morrow morning, sir."

"Well, you must have some money; you can't travel without
money, and I dare say you have not much : I have given you no
salary yet. How much have you in the world, Jane t" he asked,
smiling.

1 drew out my purse — a meagre thing it was. " Five shillings,
sir." He took the purse, poured the hoard into his palm, and
chuckled over it as if its scantiness pleased him. Soon he pro-
duced his pocket-book. "Here," said he, offering me a note:
it was fifty pounds, and he owed me but fifteen. I told him I
had no change.

" I don't want change : you know that. Take your wages.

I declined accepting more than was my due. He scowled at
first ; then, as if recollecting something, he said :

"Right, right 1 Better not give you all now: you would,
perhaps, stay away three months if you had fifty pounds. There
are ten : is it not plenty ?"

"•Yes, sir; but now you owe me five."

" Come back for it then : 1 am your banker for forty pounds."

" Mr. Rochester, I may as well mention another matter of
business to you while I have the opportunity."

" Matter of business ? I'm curious to hear it."

" You have as good as informed me, sir, that you are going
shortly to be married ?"

"Yes: what then?"

"In that case, sir, Adele ought to go to school : I am sure you
will perceive the necessity of it."

" fo get her out of my bride's way, who might otherwise walk
over her rather too emphatically. There's sense in the sugges-
tion, not a doubt of it. Adele, as you say, must go to school ;
and you, of course, must march straight to— the devil ?"

"I hope not, sir; but I must seek another situation some-
where."

" In course 1" he exclaimed, with a twang of voice and a dis-
tortion of features equally fantastic and ludicrous. He looked at
me some minutes.

" And old Madam Reed, or the Misses, her daughters, will be
solicited by you to seek a place, I suppose?"

"No, sir; I am not on such terms with my relatives as would
justify me in asking favours of them— but I shall advertise."
" You shall walk up the pyramids of Egyptl" he growled. " At

igo JANE EYRE.

your peril you advertise ! I wish I had only offered you a sove-
reign instead of ten pounds. Give me back nine pounds, Jane ;
I've a use for it."

"And so have I, sir," I returned, putting my hands and
my purse behind me. "I could not spare the money on any
account."

" Little niggard !" said he, " refusing me a pecuniary request !
Give me five pounds, Jane."

" Not five shillings, sir; nor five pence."
"Just let me look at the cash."
" No, sir; you are not to be trusted."
"Jane!"
"Sir?"

" Promise me one thing."

" I'll promise you anything, sir, that I think I am likely to
perform."

" Not to advertise : and to trust this quest of a situation to me.
I'll find you one in time."

" I shall be glad so -to do, sir, if you, in your turn, will promise
that I and Adele shall be both safe out of the house before your
bride enters it."

" Very well ! very well ! I'll pledge my word on it. You go to-
morrow, then ?"
" Yes, sir, early."

" Shall you come down to the drawing-room after dinner ?"
" No, sir, I must prepare for the journey."
" Then you and I must bid good-bye for a little while ?"
"I suppose so, sir."

" And how do people perform that ceremony of parting, Jane ?
Teach me ; I am not quite up to it."

" They say, Farewell : or any other form they prefer."
"Then say it."

" Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present."
"What must I say!"
"The same, if you like, sir."

" Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present : is that all ?"
"Yes."

" It seems stingy, to my notions, and dry, and unfriendly.
I should like something else; a little addition to the rite.
If one shook hands, for instance; but no, — that would not
content me either. So you'll do no more than say Farewell,
Jane?"

" It is enough, sir : as much good-will may be conveyed in one
hearty word as in many."

" Very likely; but it is blank and cool — ' farewell.' "
"How long is he going to stand with his back against that
door?" I asked myself; "I want to commence my packing."
The dinner-bell rang, and suddenly away he bolted, without
another syllable : I saw him no more during the day, and was off
before he had risen in the morning.

JANE EYRE. It)I

1 reached the lodge at Gateshead about five o'clock in the
afternoon of the first of Mav : I stepped in there before going up
to the hall. It was very clean and neat : the ornamental win-
dows were hung with little white curtains ; the floor was spotless,
the grate and fire-irons were burnished bright, and the fire burnt
clear. Bessie sat on the hearth, nursing her last-born, and
Robert and his sister played quietly in a corner.

"Bless you! — I knew you would come!" exclaimed Mrs.
Leaven, as I entered.

"Yes, Bessie," said I, after I had kissed her; " and I trust I
am not too late. How is Mrs. Reed? Alive still, I hope."

"Yes, she is alive; and more sensible and collected than she
was. The doctor says she may linger a week or two yet ; but he
hardly thinks she will finally recover."

" Has she mentioned me lately ?"

"She was talking of you only this morning, and wishing you
would come : but she is sleeping now ; or was ten minutes ago,
when I was up at the house. She generally lies in a kind of
lethargy all the afternoon, and wakes up about six or seven.
Will you rest yourself here an hour, miss, and then 1 will go up
with you ?' '

Robert here entered, and Bessie laid her sleeping child in the
cradle and went to welcome him : afterwards she insisted on my
taking off my bonnet and having some tea; for she said I
looked pale and tired. I was glad to accept her hospitality;
and I submitted to be relieved of my travelling garb just as
passively as I used to let her undress me when a child.

Old times crowded fast back on me as I watched her bustling
about — setting out the tea-tray with her best china, cutting
bread and butter, toasting a tea-cake, and, between whiles,
giving little Robert or Jane an occasional tap or push, just as
she used to give me in former days. Bessie had retained her
quick temper as well as her light foot and good looks.

Tea ready, 1 was going to approach the table ; but she desired
me to sit still, quite in her old, peremptory tones. I must be
served at the fireside, she said ; and she placed before me a little
round stand with my cup and a plate of toast, absolutely as she
used to accommodate me with some privately purloined dainty
on a nursery chair; and I smiled and obeyed ncr as in bygone
days.

She wanted to know if I was happy at Thornfield Hall, and
what sort of a person the mistress was; and when I told her
there was only a master, whether he was a nice gentleman, and
if I liked him. I told her he was rather an ugly man, but
quite a gentleman ; and that he treated me kindly, nnd I was
content. Then I went on to describe to her the gay company
that had lately been staying at the house ; and to these details
Bessie listened with interest : they were precisely of the kind she
relished.

In such conversation an hour was soon gone : Bcsbic restored

ig2 JANE EYRE.

to me my bonnet, &c, and, accompanied by her, I quitted the
lodge for the hall. It was also accompanied by her that I had,
nearly nine years ago, walked down the path I was now ascend-
ing. On a dark, misty, raw morning in January, I had left a
hostile roof with a desperate and embittered heart — a sense of
outlawry and almost of reprobation — to seek the chilly harbour-
age of Lowood : that bourne so far away and unexplored. The
same hostile roof now again rose before me : my prospects were
doubtful yet ; and I had yet an aching heart. I still felt as a
wanderer on the face of the earth ; but I experienced firmer
trust in myself and my own powers, and less withering dread
of oppression. The gaping wound of my wrongs, too, was now
quite healed ; and the flame of resentment extinguished.

"You shall go into the breakfast-room first," said Bessie, as
she preceded me through the hall; "The young ladies will be
there."

In another moment I was within that apartment. There was
every article of furniture looking just as it did on the morning I
was first introduced to Mr. Brocklehurst ; the very rug he had
stood upon still covered the hearth. Glancing at the book-cases,
I thought I could distinguish the two volumes of Bewick's British
Birds occupying their old place on the third shelf, and Gulliver's
Travels and the Arabian Nights ranged just above. The inani-
mate objects were not changed, but the living things had altered
past recognition.

Two young ladies appeared before me ; one very tall, almost
as tall as Miss Ingram — very thin too, with a sallow face and
severe mien. There was something ascetic in her look, which
was augmented by the extreme plainness of a straight-skirted,
black, stuff dress, a starched linen collar, hair combed away
from the temples, and the nun-like ornament of a string of ebony
beads and a crucifix. This I felt sure was Eliza, though I could
trace little resemblance to her former self in that elongated and
colourless visage.

The other was as certainly Georgiana ! but not the Georgiana
I remembered— the slim and fairy-like girl of eleven. This was
a full-blown, very plump damsel, fair as wax-work ; with hand-
some and regular features, languishing blue eyes, and ringleted
yellow hair. The hue of her. dress was black too : but its fashion
was so different from her sister's — so much more flowing and be-
coming — it looked as stylish as the other's looked puritanical.

In each of the sisters there was one trait of the mother — and
only one: the thin and pallid elder daughter had her parent's
Cairngorm eye : the blooming and luxuriant younger girl had her
contour of jaw and chin — perhaps a little softened, but still
imparting an indescribable hardness to the countenance, other-
wise so voluptuous and buxom.

Both ladies, as I advanced, rose to welcome me, and both
addressed me by the name of "Miss Eyre." Eliza's greeting
was delivered in a short, abrupt voice, without a smile ; and then

JANE EYRE. 193

she sat down again, fixed her eyes on the fire, and seemed to
forget me. Georgiana added to her " How d'ye do?" several
common-places about my journey, the weather and so on, uttered
in rather a drawling tone: and accompanied by sundry side-
glances that measured me from head to foot — now traversing the
folds of my drab merino pelisse, and now lingering on the plain
trimming of my cottage bonnet. Young ladies have a remark-
able way of letting you know that they think you a " quiz," with-
out actually saying the words. A certain superciliousness of
look, coolness of manner, nonchalance of tone, express fully their
sentiments on the point, without committing them by any positive
rudeness in word or deed.

A sneer, however, whether covert or open, had now no longer
that power over me it once possessed : as I sat between my
cousins, I was surprised to find how easy I felt under the total
neglect of the one and the semi-sarcastic attentions of the other
—Eliza did not mortify, nor Georgiana ruffie me. The fact was,
I had other things to think about : within the last few months
feelings had been stirred in me so much more potent than any
they could raise — pains and pleasures so much more acute and
exquisite had been excited, than any it was in their power to
inflict or bestow — that their airs gave me no concern either for
good or bad. '

" How is Mrs. Reed?" I asked soon, looking calmly at Geor-
giana, who thought fit to bridle at the direct address, as if it
were an unexpected liberty.

"Mrs. Reed? Ah! mamma you mean; she is extremely
poorly; I doubt if you can see her to-night."

"If," said I, "you would just step upstairs and tell her I am
come, I should be much obliged to you."

Georgiana almost started, and she opened her blue eyes wild
and wide.

" I know she had a particular wish to see me," I added, " and
I would not defer attending to her desire longer than is absolutely
necessary."

" Mamma dislikes being disturbed in an evening," remarked
Eliza.

I soon rose, quietly took off my bonnet and gloves, uninvited,
and said I would just step out to Bessie — who was, I dared say,
in the kitchen— and ask her to ascertain whether Airs. Reed was
disposed to receive me or not to-night. I went, and having found
Bessie and despatched her on my errand, I proceeded to take
further measures. It had heretofore been my habit always to
shrink from arrogance ; received as I had been to-day, I should,
a year ago, have resolved to quit Gateshead the very next morn-
ing; now, it was disclosed to me all at once that that would be a
foolish plan. I had taken a journey of a hundred miles to see my
aunt, and 1 must stay with her till she was better— or dead ; as
. to her daughters' pride or folly, I must put it on one side ; make
myself independent of it. So I "addressed the housekeeper;

M

194 JANE EYRE.

asked her to show me a room, told her I should probably be a
visitor here for a week or two, had my trunk conveyed to my
chamber, and followed it thither myself: I met Bessie on the
landing.

" Missis is awake," said she ; " I have told her you are here ;
comeand let us see if she will know you."

I did not need to be guided to the well-known room, to which I
had so often been summoned for chastisement or reprimand in
former days. I hastened before Bessie, I softly opened the door,
a shaded light stood on the table, for it was now getting dark.
There was the great four-post bed with amber hangings as of
old ; there the toilet-table, the arm-chair, and the foot-stool :
at which I had a hundred times been sentenced to kneel, to ask
pardon for offences, by me uncommitted. I looked into a cer-
tain corner near, half-expecting to see the slim outline of a once-
dreaded switch, which used to lurk there, waiting to leap out
imp-like and lace my quivering palm or shrinking neck. I
approached the bed ; I opened the curtains and leant over the
high-piled pillows.

Well did I remember Mrs. Reed's face, and I eagerly sought
the familiar image. It is a happy thing that time quells the
longings of vengeance, and hushes the promptings of rage and
aversion: I had left this woman in bitterness and hate, and I
came back to her now with no other emotion than a sort of ruth
for her great sufferings, and a strong yearning to forget and for-
give all injuries — to be reconciled and clasp hands in amity.

The well-known face was there ; stern, relentless as ever — there
was that peculiar eye which nothing could melt; and the some-
what raised, imperious, despotic eyebrow. How often had it
lowered on me menace and hate ! and how the recollection of
childhood's terrors and sorrows revived as I traced its harsh
line now ! And yet I stooped down and kissed her ; she looked
at me.

" Is this Jane Eyre ?" she said.

" Yes, aunt Reed. How are you, dear aunt ?"

I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again : I
thought it no sin to forget and break that vow now. My fingers
had fastened on her hand which lay outside the sheet : had she
pressed mine kindly, I should at that moment have experienced
true pleasure. But unimpressionable natures are not so soon
softened, nor are natural antipathies so readily eradicated : Mrs.
Reed took her hand away, and turning her face rather from me,
she remarked that the night was warm. Again she regarded me,
so icily, I felt at once that her opinion of me — her feeling towards
me was unchanged and unchangeable. I knew by her stony eye —
opaque to tenderness, indissoluble to tears — that she was resolved
to consider me bad to the last; because to believe me good
would give her no generous pleasure: only a sense of
mortification.

I felt pain, and then I felt ire ; and then I felt a determination '

JANK EYRE. I95

to subdue her— to be her mistress in spite both of her nature and
ner will. My tears had risen, just as in childhood ? I ordered
them back to their source. I brought a chair to the bed-head :
I sat down and leaned over the pillow.

"You sent for me," I said, "and I am here; and it is my
intention to stay till I see how you get on."

11 Oh, of course ! You have seen my daughters ?"

"Yes."

" Well, you may tell them I wish you to stay till I can talk
some things over with you I have on my mind : to-night it is too
late, and I have a difficulty in recalling them. But there was
something I wished to say — let me see "

The wandering look and changed utterance told what wreck
had taken place in her once-vigorous frame. Turning restlessly,
6he drew the bed-clothes round her; my elbow, resting on a
corner of the quilt, fixed it down : she was at once irritated.

" Sit up !" said she ; " don't annoy mc with holding the clothes
fast — are you Jane Eyre ?"

" I am Jane Eyre."

" I have had more trouble with that child than any one would
believe. Such a burden to be left on my hands— and so much
annoyance has she caused me, daily and hourly, with her incom-
prehensible disposition, and her sudden starts of temper, and her
continual, unnatural watchings of one's movements! I declare
she talked to me once like something jnad, or like a fiend — no
child ever spoke or looked as she did ; I was glad to get her
away from the house. What did they do with her at Lowood ?
The fever broke out there, and many of the pupils died. She,
however, did not die : but I said she did — I wish she had died !"

" A strange wish, Mrs. Reed : why do you hate her so ?"

" I had a dislike to her mother always ; for she was my hus-
band's only sister, and a great favourite with him : he opposed
the family's disowning her when she made her low marriage;
and when news came of her death, he wept like a simpleton. He
would send for the baby ; though I entreated him rather to put it
out to nurse and pay for its maintenance. I hated it the first
time I set my eyes on it — a sickly, whining, pining thing! It
would wail in its cradle all night long— not screaming heartily
like any other child, but whimpering and moaning. Reed pitied
it ; and he used to nurse it and notice it as if it had been his
own: more, indeed, than he ever noticed his own at that age.
He would try to make my children friendly to the little beggar :
the. darlings could not bear it, and he was angry with them when
they showed their dislike. In his last illness, he had it brought
continually to his bedside; and but an hour before he died, he
bound mc by vow to keep the creature. I would as soon have
been charged with a pauper brat out of a workhouse : but he was
weak, unnaturally weak. John does not at all resemble his
father, and I am glad of it : John is like me and like my brothers
—he is quite a Gibson. Oh, I wish he would cease tormenting

ig6 JANE EYRE.

me with letters for money ! I have no more money to give him :
we are getting poor. I must send away half the servants and
shut up part of the house ; or let it off. I can never submit to
do that — yet how are we to get on ? Two-thirds of my income
goes in paying the interest of mortgages. John gambles
dreadfully, and always loses— poor boy ! He is beset by sharpers :
John is sunk and degraded — his look is frightful — I feel ashamed
for him when I see him."

She was getting much excited. " I think I had better leave
her now," said I to Bessie, who stood on the other side of
the bed.

"Perhaps you had, miss: but she often talks in this way
towards night — in the morning she is calmer."

I rose. "Stop!" exclaimed Mrs. Reed. "There is another
thing I wished to say. He threatens me — he continually
threatens me with his own death, or mine : and I dream some-
times that I see him laid out with a great wound in his throat, or
with a swollen and blackened face. I am come to a strange
pass: I have heavy troubles. What is to be done? How is
the money to be had ?"

Bessie now endeavoured to persuade her to take a sedative
draught : she succeeded with difficulty. Soon after Mrs. Reed
grew more composed, and sank into a dozing state. I then left
her.

More than ten days elapsed before I had again any conversa-
tion with her: She continued either delirious or lethargic ; and
the doctor forbade everthing which could painfully excite her.
Meantime, I got on as well as I could with Georgiana and Eliza.
They were very cold indeed, at first. Eliza would sit half the day
sewing, reading, or writing, and scarcely utter a word either to
me or her sister. Georgiana would chatter nonsense to her
canary bird by the hour, and take no notice of me. But I was
determined not to seem at a loss for occupation or amusement :
I had brought my drawing materials with me, and they served
me for both.

Provided with a case of pencils, and some sheets of paper, I
used to take a seat apart from them, near the window, and busy
myself in sketching fancy vignettes, representing any scene that
happened momentarily to shape itself in the ever-shifting kaleid-
oscope of imagination : a glimpse of sea between two rocks ;
the rising moon, and a ship crossing its disc ; a group of reeds
and water-flags, and a naiad's head, crowned with lotus-flowers,
rising out of them ; an elf sitting in a hedge-sparrow's nest under
a wreath of hawthorn-bloom.

One morning I fell to sketching a face : what sort of a face it
was to be, I did not care to know. I took a' soft black pencil,
gave it a broad point, and worked away. Soon I had traced on
the paper a broad and prominent forehead, and a square lower
outline of visage ; that contour gave me pleasure : my fingers
proceeded actively to fill it with features. Strongly-marked

JANE EYRE. 197

horizontal eyebrows must be traced under that brow ; then fol-
lowed, naturally, a well-defined nose, with a straight ridge and
full nostrils ; then a flexible-looking mouth, by no means narrow ;
then a firm chin, with a decided cleft down the middle of it : of
course some black whiskers were wanted, and some jetty hair,
tufted on the temples, and waved above the forehead. Now for
the eyes : I had left them to the last, because they required the
most careful working. I drew them large ; I shaped them well :
the eyelashes I traced long and sombre ; the irids lustrous and
large. "Good I but not quite the thing," I thought, as I sur-
veyed the effect: ''They want more force and spirit;" and I
wrought the shades blacker, that the lights might flash more
brilliantly — a happy touch or two secured success. There, I had
a friend's face under my gaze ; and what did it signify that those
young ladies turned their backs on me ? I looked at it ; I smiled
at the speaking likeness ? I was absorbed and content.

" Is that a portrait of some one you know ?" asked Eliza, who
had approached me unnoticed. I responded that it was merely
a fancy head, and hurried it beneath the other sheets. Of
course, I lied: it was, in fact, a very faithful representation of
Mr. Rochester. But what was that to her, or to any onebut
myself? Georgiana also advanced to look. The other drawings
pleased her much, but she called that "an ugly man." They
both seemed surprised at my skill. I offered to sketch their por-
traits; and each, in turn, sat for a pencil outline. Then
Georgiana produced her album. I promised to contribute a
water-colour drawing : this put her at once into good humour.
She proposed a walk in the grounds. Before we had been out
two hours, we were deep in a confidential conversation : she had
favoured me with a description of the brilliant winter she had
spent in London two seasons ago— of the admiration she had
there excited — the attention she had received ; and I even got
hints of the titled conquest she had made. In the course of the
afternoon and evening these hints were enlarged on : various soft
conversations were reported, and sentimental scenes represented ;
and, in short, a volume of a novel of fashionable life was that day
improvised by her for my benefit. The communications were
renewed from day to day : they always ran on the same theme —
herself, her loves, and woes. It was strange she never once
adverted either to her mother's illness, or her orothcr's death, or
the present gloomy state of the family prospects. Her mind
seemed wholly taken up with reminiscences of past gaiety, and
aspirations after dissipations to come. She passed about five
minutes each day in her mother's sick room and no more.

Eliza still spake little ; she had evidently no time to talk. I
never saw a busier person than she seemed to be; yet it was
difficult to say what she did : or rather, to discover any result of
her diligence. She had an alarum to call her up early. I know
not how she occupied herself before breakfast, but after that
meal she divided her time into regular portions ; and each hour

ig8

JANE EYRE.

had its allotted task. Three times a day she studied a little
book, which I found on inspection was a Common Prayer Book.
I asked her once what was the great attraction of that volume,
and she said "the Rubric." Three hours she gave to stitching
with gold thread, the border of a square crimson cloth, almost
large enough for a carpet. In answer to my inquiries after the
use of this article, she informed me it was a covering for the
altar of a new church lately erected near Gateshead. Two hours
she devoted to her diary; two to working by herself in the
kitchen garden ; and one to the regulation of her accounts. She
seemed to want no company, no conversation. I believe she was
happy in her way: this routine sufficed to her; and nothing
annoyed her so much as the occurrence of any incident which
forced her to vary its clock-work regularity.

She told me one evening, when more disposed to be communi-
cative than usual, that John's conduct, and the threatened ruin
of the family, had been a source of profound affliction to her :
but she had now, she said, settled her mind, and formed her
resolution. Her own fortune she had taken care to secure ; and
when her mother died — and it was wholly improbable, she tran-
quilly remarked, that she should either recover or linger long —
she should execute a long-cherished project : seek a retirement
where punctual habits would be permanently secured from dis-
turbance, and place safe barriers between herself and a frivolous
world. I asked if Georgiana would accompany her.

"Of course not. Georgiana and she had nothing in common
— they never had had. She would not be burdened with her
society for any consideration. Georgiana should take her own
course ; and she, Eliza, would take hers."

Georgiana, when not unburdening her heart to me, spent most
of her time in lying on the sofa, fretting about the dulness of the
house, and wishing over and over again that her Aunt Gibson
would send her an invitation up to town.

"It would be so much better," she said, "if she could only
get out of the way for a month or two, till all was over." I did
not ask what she meant by "all being over," but I suppose she
referred to the expected decease of her mother and the gloomy
sequel of funeral rites. Eliza generally took no more notice of
her sister's indolence and complaints than if no such murmuring,
lounging object had been before her. One day, however, as she
put away her account book and unfolded her embroidery, she
suddenly took her up thus :

" Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you was
certainly never allowed to cumber the earth. You had no right
to be born, for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in,
and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to
fasten your feebleness on some other person's strength : if no one
can be found willing to burden her or himself with such a fat,
weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that you are ill-treated,
neglected, miserable. Then, too, existence for you must be a

JANE EYRE. I99

scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is a
dungeon. You must be admired, you must be courted, you must
be flattered— you must have music, dancing and society— or you
languish, you die away. Have you no sense to devise a system
which will make you independent of all efforts, and all wills, but
your own ! Take one day : share it into sections : to each sec-
tion apportion its task : leave no stray unemployed quarters of an
hour, ten minutes, five minutes — include all: do each piece of
business in its turn with method, with rigid regularity. The day
will close almost before you are aware it has begun ; and you are
indebted to no one for helping you to get rid of one vacant
moment : you have had to seek no one's company, conversation,
sympathy, forbearance : you have lived, in short, as an indepen-
dent being ought to do. Take this advice— the first and last I
shall offer you ; then you will not want me, or any one else,
happen what may. Neglect it — go on as heretofore — craving,
whining, and idling — and suffer the results of your idiocy, how-
ever bad and insufferable they may be. I tell you this plainly;
and listen : for though I shall no more repeat what I am now
about to say, I shall steadily act on it. After my mother's death,
I wash my hands ofyou ; from the day her coffin is carried to the
vault in Gateshead Church, you and I will be as separate as if we
had never known each other. You need not think that because
we chanced to be born of the same parents, I shall suffer you to
fasten me down by even the feeblest claim : I can tell you this —
if the whole human race, ourselves excepted, were swept away,
and we two stood alone on the earth, I would leave you in the old
world, and betake myself to the new.

She closed her lips.

" You might have spared yourself the trouble of delivering that
tirade," answered Georgiana. " Everybody knows you are the
most selfish heartless creature in existence : and / know your
spiteful hatred towards me : I have had a specimen of it before
in the trick you played me about Lord Edwin Vere : you could
not bear roe to be raised above you, to have a title, to be
received into circles where you dare not show your face, and so
you acted the spy and informer, and ruined my prospects for
ever." Georgiana took out her handkerchief and blew her nose
for an hour afterwards ; Eliza sat cold, impassable, and assidu-
ously industrious.

True, generous feeling is made small account of by some ; but
nere were two natures rendered, the one intolerably acrid, the
other despicably savourless, for the want of it. Feeling without
judgment is a washy draught indeed; but judgment untempcred
by feeling is too bitter andhusky a morsel For human deglutition.

It was a wet and windy afternoon: Georgiana had fallen
asleep on the sofa over the perusal of a novel ; Eliza was gone
to attend a saint's-day service at the new church— for in matters
of religion she was a rigid formalist : no weather ever prevented
the punctual discharge of what she considered her devotional

200 JANE EYRE.

duties ; fair or foul she went to church thrice every Sunday, and
as often on week-days as there were prayers.

I bethought myself to go upstairs and see how the dying
woman sped, who lay there almost unheeded ; the very servants
paid her but a remittent attention : the hired nurse, being little
looked after, would slip out of the room whenever she could.
Bessie was faithful ; but she had her own family to mind, and
could only come occasionally to the hall. I found the sick-room
unwatched, as I had expected : no nurse was there ; the patient
lay still, and seemingly lethargic; her livid face sunk in the
pillows : the fire was dying in the grate. I renewed the fuel, re-
arranged the bedclothes, gazed awhile on her who could not now
gaze on me, and then I moved away to the window.

The rain beat strongly against the panes, the wind blew tem-
pestuously: "One lies there," I thought, "who will soon be
beyond the war of earthly elements. Whither will that spirit —
now struggling to quit its material tenement — flit when at length
released ?"

In pondering the great mystery, I thought of Helen Burns,
recalled her dying words— her faith — her doctrine of the equality
of disembodied souls. I was still listening in thought to her
well-remembered tones— still picturing her pale and spiritual
aspect, her wasted face and sublime gaze, as she lay on her
placid deathbed, and whispered her longing to be restored to her
divine Father's bosom — when a feeble voice murmured from the
couch behind : " Who is that ?''

I knew Mrs. Reed had not spoken for days : was she reviving?
I went up to her.

" It is I, aunt Reed."

"Who— I?" was her answer. "Who are you?" looking at
me with suprise and a sort of alarm, but still not wildly. " You
are quite a stranger to me — where is Bessie ?"

" She is at the lodge, aunt."

"Aunt," she repeated. " Who calls me aunt? You are not
one of the Gibsons ; and yet I know you — that face, and the eyes
and forehead are quite familiar to me : you are like — why, you
are like Jane Eyre I"

I said nothing : I was afraid of occasioning some shock by
declaring my identity.

" Yet," said she, " I am afraid it is a mistake : my thoughts
deceive me. I wished to see Jane Eyre, and I fancy a likeness
where none exists : besides, in eight years she must be so
changed." I now gently assured her that I was the person she
supposed and desired me to be : and seeing that I was under-
stood, and that her senses were quite collected, I explained how
Bessie had sent her husband to fetch me from Thornfield.

" I am very ill, I know," she said ere long. " I was trying to
turn myself a few minutes since, and find I cannot move a limb.
It is as well I should ease my mind before I die : what we think '
little of in health burdens us at such an hour as the present is to

JANE EYRE. 201

me. Is the nurse here ? or is there no one in the room but you ?"
I assured her we were' alone.

" Well, I have twice done you a wrong which I regret now.
One was in breaking the promise which I gave my husband to

bring you up as my own child; the other " she stopped.

" After all, it is of no great importance, perhaps," she murmured
to herself: "and then I may get better; and to humble myself
to her is painful."

She made an effort to alter her position, but failed : her face
changed ; she seemed to experience some inward sensation — the
precursor, perhaps, of the last pang.

" Well, I must get it over. Eternity is before me : I had better
tell her. Go to my dressing-case, open it, and take out a letter
you will see there."

I obeyed her directions. " Read the letter," she said.

It was short, and thus conceived : —

"Madam, — Will you have the goodness to send me the
address of my niece, Jane Eyre, and to tell me how she is : it is
my intention to write shortly and desire her to come to me at
Madeira. Providence has blessed my endeavours to secure a
competency; and as I am unmarried and childless, I wish to
adopt her during my life, and bequeath her at my death what-
ever I may have to leave. — I am, Madam, &c, &c.

"John Eyre, Madeira.

It was dated three years back.

" Why did I never hear of this ?" I asked.

"Because I disliked you too fixedly and thoroughly ever to
lend a hand in lifting you to prosperity. I could not forget
your conduct to me, Jane — the fury with which you once turned
on me; the tone in which you declared you abhorred me the
worst of anybody in the world ; the unchildlike look and voice
with which you affirmed that the very thought of me made you
sick, and asserted that I had treated you with miserable cruelty.
I could not forget my own sensations when you thus started up
and poured out the venom of your mind : I felt fear, as if an
animal that I had struck or pushed had looked up at me with
human eyes and cursed me in a man's voice. Bring me some
water 1 Oh, make haste 1"

" Dear Mrs. Reed," said I, as I offered her the draught she
required, " think no more of all this, let it pass away from your
mind. Forgive me for my passionate language : I was a child
then ; eight, nine years have passed since that day."

She heeded nothing of what I said ; but when she had tasted
the water and drawn breath, she went on thus :

" I tell you I could not forget it ; and I took my revenge : for
you to be adopted by your uncle, and placed in a state of ease
and comfort, was what I could not endure. I wrote to him ; I
said I was sorry for his disappointment, but Jane Eyre was

202 JANE EYRE.

dead : she had died of typhus fever at Lowood. Now act as
you please : write and contradict my assertion — expose my false-
hood as soon as you like. You were born, I think, to be my
torment : my last hour is racked by the recollection of a deed,
which, but for you, I should never have been tempted to
commit."

" If you could but be persuaded to think no more of it, aunt,
and to regard me with kindness and forgiveness "

"You have a very bad disposition," said she, " and one to this
day I feel it impossible to understand : how for nine years you
could be patient and quiescent under any treatment, and in the
tenth break out all fire and violence, I can never comprehend."

" My disposition is not so bad as you think : I am passionate,
but not vindictive. Many a time, as a little child, I should have
been glad to love you if you would have let me ; and I long
earnestly to be reconciled to you now: kiss me, aunt."

I approached my cheek to her lips : she would not touch it.
She said I oppressed her by leaning over the bed ; and again
demanded water. As I laid her down — for I raised and sup-
ported her on my arm while she drank — I covered her ice-cold
and clammy hand with mine : the feeble fingers shrank from my
touch — the glazing eyes shunned my gaze.

" Love me, then, or hate me, as you will," I said at last, "you
have my full and free forgiveness : ask now for God's ; and be at
peace."

Poor, suffering woman ! it was too late for her to make now
the effort to change her habitual frame of mind : living, she had
ever hated me — dying, she must hate me still.

The nurse now entered, and Bessie followed. I yet lingered
half an hour longer, hoping to see some sign of amity : but she
gave none. She was fast relapsing into stupor; nor did her
mind again rally ; at twelve o'clock that night she died. I was
not present to close her eyes ; nor were either of her daughters.
They came to tell us the next morning that all was over. She
was by that time laid out. Eliza and I went to look at her :
Georgiana, who had burst out into loud weeping, said she dared
not go. There was stretched Sarah Reed's once robust and
active frame, rigid and still : her eye of flint was covered with
its cold lid; her brow and strong traits wore yet the impress
of her inexorable soul. A strange and solemn object was that
corpse to me. I gazed on it with gloom and pain : nothing soft,
nothing sweet, nothing pitying, or hopeful, or subduing, did it
inspire ; only a grating anguish for her woes — not my loss — and
a sombre tearless dismay at the fearfulness of death in such a
form.

Eliza surveyed her parent calmly. After a silence of some
minutes she observed :

" With her constitution she should have lived to a good old
age: her life was shortened by trouble." And then a spasm

JANE EYRE. 203

constricted her mouth for an instant: as it passed away she
turned and left the room, and so did I. Neither of us had dropt
a tear.

CHAPTER XXII.

MR. ROCHESTER had given me but one week's leave of
absence: yet a month elapsed before I quitted Gates-
head. I wished to leave immediately after the funeral ; but
Georgiana entreated me to stay until she could get off to
London ; whither she was now at last invited by her uncle, Mr.
Gibson; who had come down to direct his sister's interment, and
settle the family affairs. Georgiana said she dreaded being left
alone with Eliza; from her she got neither sympathy in her
dejection, support in her fears, nor aid in her preparations; so
I bore with her feeble-minded quailings, and selfish lamenta-
tions, as well as I could, and did my best in sewing for her and
packing her dresses. It is true, that while I worked, she
would idle; and I thought to myself, "If you and I were des-
tined to live always together, cousin, we would commence
matters on a different footing. I should not settle tamely down
into being the forbearing party ; I should assign you your share
of labour, and compel you to accomplish it, or else it should be
left undone : I should insist, also, on your keeping some of those
drawling, half-insincere complaints hushed in your own breast.
It is only because our connection happens to be very transitory,
and comes at a peculiarly mournful season, that I consent thus
to render it so patient and compliant on my part."

At last I saw Georgiana off; but now it was Eliza's turn to
request me to stay another week. Her plans required all her time
and attention, she said : she was about to depart for some un-
known bourne ; and all day long she stayed in her own room,
her door bolted within, filling trunks, emptying drawers, burning
papers, and holding no communication with any one. She wish-
ed me to look after the house, to see callers, and answer notes of
condolence.

One morning, she told me I was at liberty. "And," she
added, "I am obliged to you for your valuable services and
discreet conduct 1 There is some difference between living with
such a one as you, and with Georgiana : you perform your own
part in life, and burden no one. To-morrow," she continued, "I
set out for the Continent. I shall take up«my abode in a religious
house, near Lisle — a nunnery you would call it : there I shall be
quiet and unmolested. I shall devote myself for a time to the
examination of the Roman Catholic dogmas, and to a careful
study of the workings of their system ; ill find it to be, as I half

204 JANE EYRE.

suspect it is, the one best calculated to ensure the doing of all
things decently and in order, I shall embrace the tenets of Rome
and probably take the veil."

I neither expressed surprise at this resolution nor attempted to
dissuade her from it. " The vocation will fit you to a hair," I
thought : " much good may it do you !"

When we parted, she said : —

"Good-bye, cousin Jane Eyre; I wish you well: you have
some sense."

1 then returned: " You are not without sense, cousin Eliza, but
what you have, I suppose, in another year will be walled up alive
in a French convent. However, it is not my business, and so it
suits you — I don't much care."

"You are in the right," said she: and with these words we
each went our separate way. As I shall not have occasion to
refer either to her or her sister again, I may as well mention here
that Georgiana made an advantageous match with a wealthy
worn-out man of fashion ; and that Eliza actually took the
veil, and is at this day superior of the convent where she passed
the period of her novitiate : and which she endowed with her
fortune.

How people feel when they are returning home from an absence
long or short, I did not know : I had never experienced the sen-
sation. I had known what it was to come back to Gateshead
when a child, after a long walk — to be scolded for looking cold
or gloomy ; and later, what it was to come back from church to
Lowood — to long for a plenteous meal and a good fire, and to
be unable to get either. Neither of these returnings were very
pleasant or desirable : no magnet drew me to a given point,
increasing in its strength of attraction the nearer I came. The
return to Thornfield was yet to be tried.

My journey seemed tedious — very tedious : fifty miles one day,
a night spent at an inn ; fifty miles the next day. During the
first twelve hours I thought of Mrs. Reed in her last moments ;
I saw her disfigured and discoloured face, and heard her
strangely altered voice. I mused on the funeral day, the coffin,
the hearse, the black train of tenants and servants — few was the
number of relatives — the gaping vault, the silent church, the
solemn service. Then I thought of Eliza and Georgiana. I be-
held one the cynosure of a ball-room, the other the inmate of a
convent cell : and I dwelt on and analysed their separate peculi-
arities of person and character. The evening arrival at the great

town of scattered these thoughts ; night gave them quite

another turn : laid down on my traveller's bed, I left reminiscence
for anticipation.

I was going back to Thornfield ; but how long was I to stay
there? Not long: of that I was sure. I had heard from Mrs.
Fairfax in the interim of my absence ; the party at the hall was
dispersed ; Mr. Rochester had left for London three weeks ago,
but he was then expected to return in a fortnight. Mrs. Fairfax

JANE EYRE. 205

surmised that he was gone to make arrangements for his wed-
ding, as he had talked of purchasing a new carriage ; she said
the idea of his marrying Miss Ingram still seemed strange to
her ; but from what everybody said, and from what she had her-
self seen, she could no longer doubt that the event would shortly
take place.

"You would be strangely incredulous if you did doubt it," was
my mental comment. " I don't doubt it."

The question followed, "Where was I to go?" I dreamt of
Miss Ingram all the night: in a vivid morning dream I saw her
closing the gates at Thornfield against me and pointing me out
another road : and Mr. Rochester looked on with his arms folded
— smiling sardonically, as it seemed, at both her and me.

I had not notified to Mrs. Fairfax the exact day of my return ;
for I did not wish either car or carriage to meet me at Millcote.

take the old road to Thornfield, a road which fay chiefly through
fields, and was now little frequented.

It was not a bright or splendid summer evening, though fair
and soft : the haymakers were at work all along the road ; and
the sky, though far from cloudless, was such as promised well
for the future : its blue — where blue was visible— was mild and
settled, and its cloud strata high and thin. The west, too, was
warm : no watery gleam chilled it — it seemed as if there was a
fire lit, an altar burning behind its screen of marbled vapour, and
out of apertures shone a golden redness.

I felt glad as the road shortened before me— so glad, that I
stopped once to ask myself what that joy meant : and to remind
reason that it was not to my home 1 was going, or to a per-
manent resting-place, or to a place where fond friends looked
out for me and waited my arrival.

" Mrs. Fairfax will smile you a calm welcome, to be sure,"
said I ; " and little Adele will clap her hands and jump to see
you; but you know very well you are thinking of another than
they; and that he is not thinking of you."

But what is so headstrong as youth ? What so blind as inex-
perience ? These affirmed that it was pleasure enough to have
the privilege of again looking on Mr. Rochester, whether he
looked on me or not: and they added— " Hasten 1 hasten! be
with him while you may : but a few more days or weeks, at most,
and you are parted with him for ever 1"

And then I strangled a new-born agony — a deformed thing
which I could not persuade myself to own and rear — and ran
on.

They are making hay, too, in Thornfield meadows ; or rather,
the labourers are just quitting their work, and returning home
with their rakes on their shoulders : now, at the hour I arrive. I
have but a field or two to traverse, and then I shall cross the

206 JANE EYRE.

road and reach the gates. How full the hedges are of roses !
But I have no time to gather any — I want to be at the house. I
passed a tall briar, shooting leafy and flowery branches across
the path ; I see the narrow stile with stone steps ; and I see —
Mr. Rochester sitting there, a book and a pencil in his hand : he
is writing.

Well, he is not a ghost ; yet every nerve I have is unstrung, for
a moment I am beyond my own mastery. What does it mean ?
I did not think I should tremble in this way when I saw him — or
lose my voice or the power of motion in his presence. I will go
back as soon as I can stir; I need not make an absolute fool of
myself. I know another way to the house. It does not signify
if I knew twenty ways ; for he has seen me.

"Hillo!" he cries, and he puts up his book and his pencil.
"There you are ! Come on, if you please."

I suppose I do come on ; though in what fashion I know not ;
being scarcely cognisant of my movements, and solicitous only
to appear calm; and, above all, to control the working muscles
of my face — which I feel rebel insolently against my will, and
struggle to express what I had resolved to conceal, But I have
a veil— it is down; I may make shift yet to behave with decent
composure.

" And this is Jane Eyre ? Are you coming from Millcote, and
on foot ? Yes— just one of your tricks ; not to send for a carriage,
and come clattering over the street and road like a common
mortal, but to steal into the vicinage of your home along with
twilight, just as if you were a dream or a shade. What the deuce
have you done with yourself this last month ?"

" I have been with my aunt, sir, who is dead."

" A true Janian reply ! Good angels be my guard ! She comes
from the other world — from the abode of people who are dead ;
and tells me so when she meets me alone here in the gloaming !
If I dared, I'd touch you, to see if you are substance or shadow,
you elf ! — but I'd as soon offer to take hold of a blue ignis fatuus
light in a marsh. Truant! truant!" he added, when he had
paused an instant. " Absent from me a whole month : and for-
getting me quite, I'll be sworn !"

I knew there would be pleasure in meeting my master again ;
even though broken by the fear that he was so soon to cease to
be my master, and by the knowledge that I was nothing to him ;
but there was ever in Mr. Rochester (so at least I thought) such
a wealth of the power of communicating happiness, that to taste
but of the crumbs he scattered to stray and stranger birds like
me, was to feast genially. His last words were balm : they
seemed to imply that it imported something to him whether I
forgot him or not. And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home
— would that it were my home !

He did not leave the stile, and I hardly liked to ask to go by.
I inquired soon if he had not been to London.

" Yes ; I suppose you found that out by second-sight."

JANE EYRE. 207

•• Mrs. Fairfax told me in a letter."

"And did she inform you what I went to do ?"

" Oh, yes, sir ! Everybody knew your errand."

" You must see the carriage, Jane, and tell me if you don't
think it will suit Mrs. Rochester exactly; and whether she won't
look like Queen Boadicea, leaning- back against those purple
cushions. I wish, Jane, I were a tnfle better adapted to match
with her externally. Tell me now, fairy as you are— can't you
give me a charm, or a philter, or something of that sort, to make
me a handsome man T

" It would be past the power of magic, sir ;" and in thought I
added, " a loving eye is all the charm needed ; to such you are
handsome enough ; or rather your sternness has a power beyond
beauty."

Mr. Rochester had sometimes read my unspoken thoughts
with an acumen to me incomprehensible ; in the present instance
he took no notice of my abrupt vocal response ; but he smiled at
me with a certain smile he had of his own, and which he used
but on rare occasions. He seemed to think it too good for com-
mon purposes ; it was the real sunshine of feeling — he shed it
over me now.

"Pass, Janet," said he, making room for me to cross the
stile : " go up home, and stay your weary little wandering feet at
a friend's threshold."

All I had now to do was to obey him in silence : no need for
me to colloquise further. I got over the stile without a word, and
meant to leave him calmly. An impulse held me fast — a force
turned me round. I said — or something in me said for me, and
in spite of me :

"Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. 1 am
strangely glad to get back again to you ; and wherever you are
is my home— my only home.'

I walked on so fast that even he could hardly have overtaken
me had he tried. Little Adclc was half wild with delight when
she saw me. Mrs. Fairfax received me with her usual plain
friendliness. Leah smiled ; and even Sophie bid me " bon soir"
with glee. This was very pleasant ; there is no happiness like
that of being loved by your fellow-creatures, and feeling that''
your presence is an addition to their comfort.

I, that evening, shut my eyes resolutely against the future: I
stopped my ears against the voice that kept warning me of near
separation and coming grief. When tea was over and Mrs.
Fairfax had taken her knitting, and I had assumed a low seat
near her, and Adele, kneeling on the carpet, had nestled close
up to me, and a sense of mutual affection seemed to surround us
with a ring of golden peace, I uttered a silent prayer that we
might not be parted far or soon ; but when, as we thus sat, Mr.
Rochester entered, unannounced, and looking at us, seemed to
take pleasure in the spectacle of a group so amicable— when he
said he supposed the old lady was all right now that she had

208 JANE EYRE.

got her adopted daughter back again, and added that he saw
Adele was " pr£te a croquer sa petite maman Anglaise" — I half
ventured to hope that he would, even after his marriage, keep us
together somewhere under the shelter of his protection, and not
quite exiled from the sunshine of his presence.

A fortnight of dubious calm succeeded my return to Thornfield
Hall. Nothing was said of the master's marriage, and I saw no
preparation going on for such an event. Almost every day I
asked Mrs. Fairfax if she had yet heard anything decided ; her
answer was always in the negative. Once, she said, she had
actually put the question to Mr. Rochester as to when he was
going to bring his bride home ; but he had answered her only by
a joke, and one of his queer looks, and she could not tell what to
make of him.

One thing specially surprised me, and that was, there were no
journeyings backward and forward, no visits to Ingram Park ; to
be sure it was twenty miles off, on the borders of another county ;
but what was that distance to an ardent lover ? To so practised
and indefatigable a horseman as Mr. Rochester it would be but
a morning's ride. I began to cherish hopes I had no right to
conceive : that the match was broken off; that rumour had been
mistaken ; that one or both parties had changed their minds. I
used to look at my master's face to see if it were sad or fierce ;
but I could not remember the time when it had been so uniformly
clear of clouds or evil feelings. If, in the moments I and my
pupil spent with him, I lacked spirits and sank into inevitable
dejection, he became even gay. Never had he called me more
frequently to his presence ; never been kinder to me when there
— and, alas ! never had I loved him so well.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A SPLENDID midsummer shone over England: skies so
pure, suns so radiant as were then seen in long succession,
seldom favour, even singly, our wave-girt land. It was as if a
band of Italian days had come from the South, like a flock of
glorious passenger birds, and lighted to rest them on the cliffs of
Albion. The hay was all got in; the fields round Thornfield
were green and shorn; the roads white and baked; the trees
were in their dark prime; hedge and wood, full-leaved and
deeply tinted, contrasted well with the sunny hue of the cleared
meadows between.

On midsummer-eve, Adele, weary with gathering wild straw-
berries in Hay -Lane half the day, had gone to bed with the sun.
I watched her drop asleep, and when I left her I sought the
garden.

It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four: "Day its

JANE EYRE. 20g

fervid fires had wasted/' and dew fell cool on panting- plain and
scorched summit. Where the sun had gone down in simple
state — pure of the pomp of clouds — spread a solemn purple,
burning with the light of red jewel and furnace flame at one point,
on one hill-peak, and extending high and wide, soft and still
softer, over half heaven. The east had its own charm of fine,
deep blue, and its own modest gem, a rising and solitary star:
soon it would boast the moon; but she was yet beneath the
horizon

I walked awhile on the pavement; but a subtle, well-known
scent — that of a cigar— stole from some window; I saw the
library casement open a handbreadth ; I knew I might be
watched thence ; so I went apart into the orchard. No nook in
the grounds more sheltered and more Eden-like ; it was full of
trees, it bloomed with flowers : a very high wall shut it out from
the court on one side ; on the other, a beech avenue screened it
from the lawn. At the bottom was a sunk fence ; its sole separa-
tion from lonely fields: a winding walk bordered with laurels,
and terminating in a giant horse-chestnut, circled at the base by
a seat, led down to the fence. Here one could wander unseen.
While such honey-dew fell, such silence reigned, such gloaming
gathered, I felt as if I could haunt such shade for ever ; but in
threading the flower and fruit parterres at the upper part of the
enclosure, enticed there by the light the now-rising moon casts
on this more open quarter, my step is stayed — not by sound, not
by sight, but once more by a warning fragrance.

Sweetbriar and southernwood, jasmine, pink and rose, have long
been yielding their evening sacrifice of incense : this new scent
is neither of shrub nor flower ; it is— I know it well — it is Mr.
Rochester's cigar. I look round and I listen. I see trees laden
with ripening fruit. I hear a nightingale warbling in a wood
half a mile off. No moving form is visible, no coming step
audible ; but that perfume increases. I must flee. I make for
the wicket leading to the shrubbery, and I see Mr. Rochester
entering. I step aside into the ivy recess ; he will not stay long :
he will soon return whence he came, and if I sit still he will never
see me.

But no — eventide is as pleasant to him as to me, and this
antique garden is attractive; and he strolls on, now lifting the
gooseberry tree branches to look at the fruit, large as plums, with
which they are laden ; now taking a ripe cherry from the wall ;
now stooping towards a knot of flowers, either to inhale their
fragrance or to admire the dew-beads on their petals. A great
moth goes humming by me; it alights on a plant at Mr.
Rochester's foot : he sees it, and bends to examine it.

" Now he has his back towards me," thought 1, "and he is
occupied too; perhaps, if I walk softly, I can slip away
unnoticed."

I trode on an edging of turf that the crackle of the pebbly
gravel might not betray me ; he was standing among the beds at

N

210 JANE EYRE.

a yard or two distant from where I had to pass: the moth
apparently engaged him. "I shall get by very well," I medi-
tated. As I crossed his shadow, thrown long over the garden
by the moon, not yet risen high, he said quietly, without turning :

"Jane, come and look at this fellow."

I had made no noise : he had not eyes behind — could his
shadow feel ? I started at first, and then I approached him.

"Look at his wings," said he; "he reminds me rather of a
West Indian insect; one does not often see so large and gay
a night-rover in England ; there ! he is flown."

The moth roamed away. I was sheepishly retreating also;
but Mr. Rochester followed me, and when we reached the wicket,
he said :

"Turnback: on so lovely a night it is a shame to sit in the
house ; and surely no one can wish to go to bed while sunset is
thus at meeting with moonrise."

It is one of my faults, that though my tongue is sometimes
prompt enough at an answer, there are times when it sadly fails
me in framing an excuse ; and always the lapse occurs at some
crisis, when a futile word or plausible pretext is specially wanted
to get me out of painful embarrassment. I did not like to walk
at this hour alone with Mr. Rochester in the shadowy orchard,
but I could not find a reason to allege for leaving him. I followed
with lagging steps, and thoughts busily bent on discovering a
means of extrication ; but he himself looked so composed, and
so grave also, I became ashamed of feeling any confusion : the
evil — if evil existent or prospective there was — seemed to lie with
me only ; his mind was unconscious and quiet.

"Jane," he recommenced, as we entered the laurel walk, and
slowly strayed down in the direction of the sunk-fence and the
horse-chestnut, " Thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it
not ?"

"Yes, sir."

"You must have become in some degree attached to the
house — you, who have an eye for natural beauties, and a good
deal of the organ of Adhesiveness ?"

" I am attached to it, indeed."

"And though I don't comprehend how it is, I perceive you
have acquired a degree of regard for that foolish little child
Adele, too ; and even for simple dame Fairfax ?"

"Yes, sir; in different ways, I have an affection for both."

" And would be sorry to part with them ?"

"Yes."

"Pity!" he said, and sighed and paused. "It is always the
way of events in this life," he continued presently: "no sooner
have you got settled in a pleasant resting-place, than a voice
calls out to you to rise and move on, for the hour of repose is
expired."

" Must I move on, sir ?" I asked. " Must I leave Thornfield ?"

JANE EYRE. 211

" I believe you must, Jane. I am sorry, Janet, but I believe
indeed you must."

This was a blow : but I did not let it prostrate me.

"Well, sir, I shall be ready when the order to march comes."

"It is come now — I must give it to-night."

"Then you are going to be married, sir?"

" Ex-act-ly— pre-cise-ly : with your usual acuteness, you have
hit the nail straight on the head."

"Soon, sir?"

"Very soon, my that is, Miss Eyre : and you'll remember,

Jane, the first time I, or Rumour, plainly intimated to you that it
was my intention to put my old bachelor's neck into the sacred
noose, to enter into the holy estate of matrimony— -to take Miss
Ingram to my bosom, in short (she's an extensive armful; but
that's not to the point— one can't have too much of such a very
excellent thing as my beautiful Blance) : well, as I was saying —
listen to me, Jane 1 You're not turning your head to look after
more moths, are you ? That was only a lady-clock, child, ' flying
away home.' I wish to remind you that it was you who first said
to me, with that discretion I respect in you— with that foresight,
prudence, and humility which befit your responsible and depen-
dent position — that in case I married Miss Ingram — both you and
little Adele had better trot forthwith. I pass over the sort of slur
conveyed in this suggestion on the character of my beloved ;
indeed, when you are far away, Janet, I'll try to forget it ; I shall
notice only its wisdom ; which is such that I have made it my
law of action. Adcle must go to school; and you, Miss Eyre,
must get a new situation."

"Yes, sir, I will advertise immediately; and meantime, I sup-

rse " I was going to say, " I suppose I may stay here till
find another shelter to betake myself to;" but I stopped,
feeling it would not do to risk a long sentence, for my voice was
not quite under command.

"In about a month I hope to be a bridegroom," continued
Mr. Rochester; "and in the interim I shall myself look out for
employment and an asylum for you."

" Thank you, sir; I am sorry to give "

" Oh, no need to apologise ! I consider that when a dependent
does her duty as well as you have done yours, she has a sort of
claim upon her employer for any little assistance he can conve-
niently render her; indeed I have already, through my future
mother-in-law, heard of a place that I think will suit : it is to
undertake the education of the five daughters of Mrs. Dionysius
O'Gall of Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, Ireland. You'll like
Ireland, I think: they're such warm-hearted people there, they
say."

" It is a long way off, sir."

" No matter— a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage
or the distance."

212 JANE EYRE.

" Not the voyage, but the distance : and then the sea is a
barrier "

" From what, Jane ?"

" From England and from Thornfield : and "

"Well?"

" Fromjj'<?#, sir."

I said this almost involuntarily : and, with as little sanction of
free will, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard,
however; I avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O'Gall and
Bitternutt Lodge struck cold to my heart ; and colder the thought
of all the brine and foam destined, as it seemed, to rush between
me and the master at whose side I now walked ; and coldest the
remembrance of the wider ocean— wealth, caste, custom inter-
vened between me and what I naturally and inevitably loved.

" It is a long way," I again said.

"It is, to be sure; and when you get to Bitternutt Lodge,
Connaught, Ireland, I shall never see you again, Jane : that's
morally certain. I never go over to Ireland, not having myself
much of a fancy for the country. We have been good friends,
Jane ; have we not ?"

"Yes, sir."

"And when friends are on the eve of separation they like to
spend the little time that remains to them close to each other.
Come — we'll talk over the voyage and the parting quietly, half
an hour or so, while the stars enter into their shining life up in
heaven yonder : here is the chestnut tree ; here is the bench at
its old roots. Come, we will sit there in peace to-night, though
we should never more be destined to sit there together." He
seated me and himself.

" It is a long way to Ireland, Janet, and I am sorry to send my
little friend on such weary travels : but if I can't do better, how
is it to be helped ? Are you anything akin to me, do you think,
Jane?"

I could risk no sort of answer by this time ; my heart was still.

"Because," he said, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with
regard to you — especially when you are near me, as now : it is as
if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inex-
tricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding
quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and
two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am
afraid that cord of communion will be snapped ; and then I've a
nervous notion that I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for
you— you'll forget me."

"That I never should, sir: you know " impossible to

proceed.

"Jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood?
Listen."

In listening, I sobbed convulsively; for I could not repress
what I endured no longer: I was obliged to yield, and I was
shaken from head to foot with acute distress. When I did

JANE EYRE. 213

speak, it was only to repress an impetuous wish that I had never
been born, or never came to Thornfield.

" Because you are sorry to leave it ?"

The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me,
was claiming mastery, and struggling for full sway ; and assert-
ing a right to predominate : to overcome, to live, rise, and reign
at last ; yes — and to speak.

"I grieve to leave Thornfield: I love Thornfield: I love it
because I have lived in it a full and delightful life — momentarily
at least. I have not been trampled on. I have not been
petrified. I have not been buried with inferior minds, and
excluded from every glimpse of communion with what is bright,
and energetic, and high. I have talked, face to face, with what
I reverence ; with what I delight it — with an original, a vigorous,
an expanded mind. I have known you, Mr. Rochester; and it
strikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be
torn from you for ever. I see the necessity of departure ; and it
is like looking on the necessity of death."

"Where do you see the necessity?" he asked, suddenly.

"Where? You, sir, have placed it before me."

" In what shape ?"

" In the shape of Miss Ingram; a noble and beautiful woman
— your bride."

" My bride 1 What bride ? I have no bride I"

"But you will have."

" Yes ; I will !-I will 1" He set his teeth.

" Then I must go : you have said it yourself."

"No: you must stay! I swear it — and the oath shall be
kept."

"I tell you I must gol" I retorted, roused to something like
passion. " Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you ?
Do you think I am an automaton ? — a machine without feelings ?
and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my
lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do
you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am
soulless and heartless ? You think wrong 1 — I have as much
soul as you— and full as much heart ! And if God had gifted
me with some beauty, and much wealth, I should have made it
as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you.
I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, con-
ventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that
addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the
grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal— as we are I"

"As we arel" repeated Mr. Rochester— •" so," he added,
enclosing me in his arms, gathering me to his breast, pressing
his lips on my lips : " so, jane 1"

"Yes, so, sir," I rejoined: "and yet not so; for you are a
married man— or as good as a married man, and wed to one
inferior to you — to one with whom you have no sympathy — whom
I do not believe you truly love ; for I have seen and heard you

214 JANE EYRE.

sneer at her. I would scorn such a union ; therefore I am better
than you— let me go !"

" Where, Jane ? To Ireland ?"

"Yes — to Ireland. I have spoken my mind, and can go any-
where now."

"Jane, be still; don't struggle so, like a wild, frantic bird that
is rending its own plumage in its desperation."

" I am no bird ; and no net ensnares me : I am a free human
being with an independent will; which I now exert to leave
you."

Another effort set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him.

" And your will shall decide your destiny," he said: "I offer
you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions."

" You play a farce, which I merely laugh at."

" I ask you to pass through life at my side — to be my second
self, and best earthly companion."

" For that fate you have already made your choice, and must
abide by it."

"Jane, be still a few moments: you are over-excited: I will
be still too."

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and
trembled through the boughs of the chestnut : it wandered away
— away— to an indefinite distance — it died. The nightingale's
song was then the only voice of the hour : in listening to it, I
again wept. Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and
seriously. Some time passed before he spoke, he at last said :

"Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand
one another."

" I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now,
and cannot return."

" But, Jane, I summon you as my wife : it is you I intend to
marry."

I was silent : I thought he mocked me.

" Come, Jane — come hither."

" Your bride stands between us."

He rose, and with a stride reached me.

"My bride is here," he said, again drawing me to him,
"because my equal is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you
marry me ?' '

Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his
grasp : for 1 was still incredulous.

" Do you doubt me, Jane ?"

"Entirely."

"You have no faith in me ?"

"Not a whit."

"Am I a liar in your eyes?" he asked passionately. "Little
sceptic, you shall be convinced. What love have I for Miss
Ingram ? None : and that you know. What love has she for
me ? None : as I have taken pains to prove : I caused a rumour
to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was

JANE EYRE. 215

supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result ; it
was coldness both from her and her mother. I would not — I
could not— marry Miss Ingram. You — you strange— you almost
unearthly thing 1 — I love you as my own flesh. You— poor and
obscure, and small and plain as you are — I entreat to accept me
as a husband."

"What, me!" I ejaculated: beginning in his earnestness,
and especially in his incivility, to credit his sincerity: " me who
have not a friend : not a shilling but what you have given me ?"

" You, Jane. I must have you for my own— entirely my own.
Will you be mine ? Say yes, quickly."

" Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moon-
light."

"Why?"

" Because I want to read your countenance ; turn 1"

"There; you will find it scarcely more legible than a
crumpled, scratched page. Read on : only make haste, for I
suffer."

His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and
there were strong workings in the features, and strange gleams
in the eyes.

"Oh, Jane, you torture me 1" he exclaimed. "With that
searching and yet faithful and generous look, you torture me 1"

" How can I do that ? If you are true, and youc offer real, my
only feelings to you must be gratitude and devotion, they cannot
torture."

"Gratitude!" he ejaculated; and added wildly, "Jane,
accept me quickly. Say, Edward — give me my name — Edward,
I will marry you."

"Are you in earnest? Do you truly love me? Do you
sincerely wish me to be your wife ?"

" I do ; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it."

" Then, sir, I will marry you."

" Edward — my little wife !"

" Dear Edward I"

"Come to me— come to me entirely now," said he: and
added, in his deepest tone, speaking now in my ear as his cheek
was laid on mine, " Make my happiness, I will make yours."

" God pardon me I" he subjoined ere long; " and man meddle
not with me : I have her, and will hold her."

" There is no one to meddle, sir. I have no kindred to inter-
fere."

" No ; that is the best of it," he said. And if I had loved him
less I should have thought his accent and look of exultation
savage : but sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of part-
ing, called to the paradise of union, I thought only of the oliss
given me to drink in so abundant a flow. Again and again he
said, "Are you happy, Jane?" And again and again I
answered, "Yes." After which he murmured, "It will atone —
it will atone. Have I not found her friendless, and cold, anil

2l6 JANE EYRE.

comfortless ? Will I not guard, and cherish, and solace her ?
Is there not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves ?
It will expiate at God's tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions
what I do. For the world's judgment — I wash my hands thereof.
For man's opinion — I defy it."

But what has befallen the night ? The moon has not yet set,
and we were all in shadow : I could scarcely see my master's
face, near as I was. And what ailed the chestnut tree? It
writhed and groaned ; while wind roared in the laurel walk, and
came sweeping over us.

"We must go in," said Mr. Rochester: "the weather
changes. I could have sat with thee till morning, Jane."

"And so," thought I, "could I with you." I should have
said so, perhaps, but a livid, vived spark leapt out of a cloud at
which I was looking, and there was a crack, a crash, and a close
rattling peal; and I thought only of hiding my dazzled eyes
against Mr. Rochester's shoulder.

The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through
the grounds, and into the house ; but we were quite wet before
we could pass the threshold. He was taking off my shawl in the
hall, and shaking the water out of my loosened hair, when Mrs.
Fairfax emerged from her room. I did not observe her at first,
nor did Mr. Rochester. The lamp was lit. The clock was on
the stroke of twelve.

" Hasten to take off your wet things," said he; "and before
you go, good-night— good-night, my darling !"

He kissed me repeatedly. When I looked up, on leaving his
arms, there stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. I only
smiled at her, and ran up stairs. " Explanation will do for
another time," thought I. Still, when I reached my chamber, I
felt a pang at the idea she should even temporarily misconstrue
what she had seen. But joy soon effaced every other feeling;
and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thunder
crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, cataract-
like as the rain fell during a storm of two hours' duration, I
experienced no fear, and little awe. Mr. Rochester came thrice
to my door in the course of it, to ask if I was safe and tranquil :
and that was comfort, that was strength for anything.

Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adele came running
in to tell me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the
orchard had been struck by lightning in the night, and half of it
split away.

CHAPTER XXIV.

AS I rose and dressed, I thought over what had happened,
and wondered if it were a dream. I could not be certain
of the reality till I had seen Mr. Rochester again, and heard him
renew his words of love and promise.

JANE EYRE. 217

While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass,
and felt it was no longer plain: there was hope in its aspect,
and life in its colour ; and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld
the fount of fruition, and borrowed beams from the lustrous
ripple. I had often been unwilling to look at my master,
because I feared he could not be pleased at my look ; but I was
sure I might lift my face to his now, and not cool his affection by
its expression. I took a plain but clean and light summer dress
from my drawer and put it on : it seemed no attire had ever so
well become me ; because none had I ever worn in so blissful a
mood.

I was not surprised, when I ran down into the hall, to see that
a brilliant June morning had succeeded to the tempest of the
night ; and to feel, through the open glass door, the breathing of
a fresh and fragrant breeze. Nature must be gladsome when I
was so happy. A beggar-woman and her little boy — pale,
ragged objects both — were coming up the walk, and I ran down
and gave them all the money I happened to have in my purse —
some three or four shillings : good or bad, they must partake of
my jubilee. The rooks cawed, and blither birds sang; but
nothing was so merry or so musical as my own rejoicing heart.

Mrs. Fairfax surprised me by looking out of the window with a
sad countenance, and saying gravely: "Miss Eyre, will you
come to breakfast?" During the meal she was quiet and cool,
but I could not undeceive her then, I must wait for my master to
give explanations ; and so must she. I ate what I could, and
then I hastened upstairs. I met Adele leaving the school-room.

"Where are you going ? It is time for lessons."

" Mr. Rochester has sent me away to the nursery."

" Where is he ?"

"In there," pointing to the apartment she had left; and I
went in, and there he stood.

" Come and bid me good-morning," said he.

I gladly advanced ; and it was not merely a cold word now, or
even a shake of the hand that I received, but an embrace and a
kiss. It seemed natural : it seemed genial to be so well-loved,
so caressed by him.

"Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty," said he,
" truly pretty this morning. Is this my pale, little elf? Is this
my mustard-seed ? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled
cheek and rosy lips, the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant
hazel eyes?" (I had green eyes, reader, but you must excuse the
mistake : for him they were new-dyed, I suppose.)

" It is Jane Eyre, sir."

"Soon to be Jane Rochester," he added; "in four weeks,
Janet ; not a day more. Do you hear that ?"

I did, and I could not quite comprehend it, it made me giddy.
The feeling the announcement sent through me was something
stronger than was consistent with joy— something that smote and
stunned; it was, I think, almost fear.

2l8 JANE EYRE.

"You blushed, and now you are white, Jane: what is that
for?"

" Because you gave me a new name — Jane Rochester ; and it
seems so strange."

"Yes; Mrs. Rochester," said he, "young Mrs. Rochester —
Fairfax Rochester's girl-bride."

" It can never be, sir ; it does not sound likely. Human beings
never enjoy complete happiness in this world. I was not born
for a different destiny to the rest of my species ; to imagine such
a lot befalling me is a fairy tale — a day-dream."

"Which I can and will realise. I shall begin to-day. This
morning I wrote to my banker in London to send me certain
jewels he has in his keeping — heirlooms for the ladies of Thorn-
field. In a day or two I hope to pour them into your lap : for
every privilege, every attention shall be yours that I would accord
a peer's daughter, if about to marry her."

"Oh, sir! — never mind jewels! I don't like to hear them
spoken of. Jewels for Jane Eyre sounds unnatural and strange :
I would rather not have them."

" I will myself put the diamond chain round your neck — and
the circlet on your forehead— which it will become ; for nature,
at least, has stamped her patent of nobility on this brow, Jane ;
and I will clasp the bracelets on these fine wrists, and load these
fairy-like fingers with rings."

"No, no, sir; think of other subjects, and speak of other
things, and in another strain. Don't address me as if I were a
beauty; I am your plain, Quakerish governess."

"You are a beauty, in my eyes; and a beauty just after the
desire of my heart — delicate and aerial."

" Puny and insignificant, you mean. You are dreaming, sir—
or you are sneering. For God's sake, don't be ironical !"

"I will make the world acknowledge you a beauty, too," he
went on, while I really became uneasy at the strain he had
adopted ; because I felt he was either deluding himself, or trying
to delude me. " I will attire my Jane in satin and lace, and she
shall have roses in her hair ; and I will cover the head I love
best with a priceless veil."

" And then you won't know me, sir; and I shall not be your
Jane Eyre any longer, but an ape in a harlequin's jacket— a jay
in borrowed plumes. I would as soon see you, Mr. Rochester,
tricked out in stage-trappings, as myself clad in a Court-lady's
robe, and I don't call you handsome, sir, though I love you
most dearly ; far too dearly to flatter you. Don't flatter me."

He pursued his theme, however, without noticing my depre-
cation.

" This very day I shall take you in the carriage to Millcote,
and you must choose some dresses for yourself. I told you we
shall be married in four weeks. The wedding is to take place
quietly, in the church down below yonder ; and then I shall waft
you away at once to town. After a brief stay there I shall bear

JANE EYRE. 2IQ

my treasure to regions nearer the sun ; to French vineyards and
Italian plains : and she shall sec whatever is famous in old
story and in modern record : she shall taste, too, of the life of
cities : and she shall learn to value herself by just comparison
with others."

" Shall I travel ?— and with you, sir ?"

" You shall sojourn at Paris, Rome, and Naples : at Florence,
Venice, and Vienna ; all the ground I have wandered over shall
be re-trodden by you : wherever I stamped my hoof, your sylph's
foot shall step also. Ten years since, I flew through Europe
half mad; with disgust, hate, and rage as my companions:
now I shall revisit it healed and cleansed, with a very angel as
my comforter."

I laughed at him as he said this.

"I am not an angel," I asserted; "and I will not be one till
I die: I will be myself. Mr. Rochester, you must neither
expect nor exact anything celestial of me — for you will not get
it, any more than I shall get it of you, which I do not at all
anticipate."

" What do you anticipate of me ?"

" For a little while you will perhaps be as you are now— a very
little while : and then you will turn cool ; and then you will be
capricious ; and then you will be stern, and I shall have much
ado to please you : but when you get well used to me, you will
perhaps like me again — like me, I say, not love me. I suppose
your love will effervesce in six months, or less. I have observed
in books written by men, that period assigned as the farthest to
which a husband's ardour extends. Yet after all, as a friend
and companion, I hope never to become quite distasteful to my
dear master."

" Distasteful I and like you again 1 I think I shall like you
again and yet again : and I will make you confess I do not only
like, but love you— with truth, fervour, constancy."

" Yet are you not capricious, sir ?"

"To women who please me only by their faces I am the very
devil when I find out they have neither" souls nor hearts — when
they open to me a perspective of flatness, triviality, and perhaps
imbecility, coarseness, and ill-temper : but to the clear eye and
eloquent tongue, to the soul made of fire, and the character that
bends but does not break — at once supple and stable, tractable
and consistent — I am ever tender and true."

" Had you ever experience of such a character, sir? Did you
ever love such an one?"

" I love it now."

" But before me : if I, indeed, in any respect come up to your
difficult standard ?"

11 1 never met your likeness. Jane : you please me, and you
master me — you seem to submit, and I like tne sense of pliancy
you impart ; and while I am twining the soft, silken skein round
my finger, it sends a thrill up my arm to my heart. I am

220 JANE EYRE.

influenced — conquered ; and the influence is sweeter than I can
express ; and the conquest I undergo has a witchery beyond any
triumph /can win. Why do you smile, Jane ? What does that
inexplicable, that uncanny turn of countenance mean?"

"I was thinking, sir, (you will excuse the idea, it was in-
voluntary), I was thinking of Hercules and Samson, with their
charmers "

"You were, you little elfish "

"Hush, sir! You don't talk very wisely just now; any more
than those gentlemen acted very wisely. However, had they
been married, they would no doubt by their severity as husbands
have made up for their softness as suitors ; and so will you, I
fear. I wonder how you will answer me a year hence, should
I ask a favour it does not suit your convenience or pleasure to
grant."

"Ask me something now, Janet — the least thing: I desire to
be entreated — "

" Indeed, I will, sir; I have my petition all ready."

" Speak ! But if you look up and smile with that countenance,
I shall swear concession before I know to what, and that will
make a fool of me."

"Not at all, sir; I ask only this: don't send for the jewels,
and don't crown me with roses : you might as well put a border
of gold lace round that plain pocket - handkerchief you have
there."

" I might as well ' gild refined gold.' I know it : your request
is granted then — for the time. I will remand the order I des-
patched to my banker. But you have not yet asked for anything,
you have prayed a gift to be withdrawn : try again."

"Well, then, sir; have the goodness to gratify my curiosity,
which is much piqued on one point."

He looked disturbed.

"What? what?" he said hastily. " Curiosity is a dangerous
petition; it is well I have not taken a vow to accord every
request "

" But there can be no danger in complying with this, sir."

" Utter it, Jane : but I wish that instead of a mere inquiry
into, perhaps, a secret, it was a wish for half my estate."

"Now, king Ahasuerus ! What do I want with half your
estate ? Do you think I am a Jew-usurer, seeking good invest-
ment in land ? I would much rather have all your confidence.
You will not exclude me from your confidence, if you admit me
to your heart?"

"You are welcome to all my confidence that is worth
having, Jane: but for God's sake, don't desire a useless bur-
den ! Don't long for poison — don't turn out a downright Eve on
my hands 1"

" Why not, sir ? You have just been telling me how much you
liked to be conquered, and how pleasant over-persuasion is to
you. Don't you think I had better take advantage of the con-

JANE EYRE. 221

fession, and begin and coax, and entreat— even ciy and be sulky
if necessary — for the sake of a mere essay of my power ?"

" I dare you to any such experiment. Encroach, presume, and
the game is up."

"Is it, sir? You soon give in. How stern you look now!
Your eyebrows have become as thick as my finger, and your fore-
head resembles, what, in some very astonishing poetry, I once
saw styled, ' a blue-piled thunderloft.' That will be your married
look, sir, I suppose?"

" If that will hejfour married look, I, as a Christian, will soon
give up the notion of consorting with a mere sprite or salamander.
But what had you to ask, thing? — out with it !"

"There, you are less than civil now; and I like rudeness a
great deal better than flattery. I had rather be a thing than
an angel. This is what I have to ask — Why did you take
such pains to make me believe you wished to marry Miss
Ingram?"

" Is that all? Thank God it is no worse !" And now he un-
knit his black brows : looked down, smiling at me, and stroked
my hair, as if well pleased at seeing a danger averted. " I think
I may confess," he continued, "even although I should make
you a little indignant, Jane — and I have seen what a fire-spirit
you can be when you are indignant. You glowed in the cool
moonlight last night, when you mutinied against fate, and
claimed your rank as my equal. Janet, by-the-by, it was you
who made me the offer."

"Of course, I did. But to the point if you please, sir— Miss
Ingram?"

"Well, I feigned courtship of Miss Ingram, because I wished
to render you as madly in love with me as I was with you ; and I
knew jealousy would be the best ally I could call in for the fur-
therance of that end."

" Excellent ! Now you are small, not one whit bigger than the
end of my little finger. It was a burning shame, and a scandal-
ous disgrace to act in that way. Did you think nothing of Miss
Ingram s feelings, sir?"

" Her feelings are concentrated in one — pride ; and that needs
humbling. Were you jealous, Jane ?"

" Never mind, Mr. Rochester, it is in no way interesting to you
to know that. Answer me truly once more. Do you think Miss
Ingram will not suffer from your dishonest coquetry ? Won't she
feel forsaken and deserted ? '

" Impossible ! when I told you how she, on the contrary,
deserted me ; the idea of my insolvency cooled, or rather extin-
guished, her flame in a moment."

" You have a curious, designing mind, Mr. Rochester. I am
afraid your principles on some points are eccentric."

" My principles were never trained, Jane, they may have grown
a little awry for want of attention."

" Once again, seriously ; may I enjoy the great good that has

222 JANE EYRE.

been vouchsafed to me, without fearing that any one else is
suffering the bitter pain I myself felt a while ago ?"

" That you may, my good little girl : there is not another being
in the world has the same pure love for me as yourself, for I
lay that pleasant unction to my soul, Jane, a belief in your
affection."

I turned my lips to the hand that lay on my shoulder. I loved
him very much ; more than I could trust myself to say : more
than words had power to express.

"Ask something more," he said presently; "it is my delight
to be entreated, and to yield."

I was again ready with my request. " Communicate your
intentions to Mrs. Fairfax, sir : she saw me with you last night
in the hall, and she was shocked. Give her some explanation
before I see her again. It pains me to be misjudged by so good
a woman."

" Go to your room, and put on your bonnet," he replied. " I
mean you to accompany me to Millcote this morning ; and while
you prepare for the drive I will enlighten the old lady's under-
standing. Did she think, Janet, you had given the world for
love, and considered it well lost ?"

" I believe she thought I had forgotten my station, and yours,
sir."

" Station ! station ! — your station is in my heart, and on the
necks of those who would insult you, now or hereafter. Go."

I was soon dressed ; and when I heard Mr. Rochester quit
Mrs. Fairfax's parlour, I hurried down to it. The old lady had
been reading her morning portion of Scripture — the lesson for the
day ; her Bible lay open before her, and her spectacles were upon
it. Her occupation, suspended by Mr. Rochester's announce-
ment, seemed now forgotten : her eyes, fixed on the blank wall
opposite, expressed the surprise of a quiet mind stirred by
unwonted tidings. Seeing me, she roused herself: she made a
sort of effort to smile, and framed a few words of congratulation ;
but the smile expired, and the sentence was abandoned unfinished.
She put up her spectacles, shut the Bible, and pushed her chair
back from the table.

"I feel so astonished," she began, "I hardly know what to
say to you, Miss Eyre. I have surely not been dreaming, have
I ? Sometimes I half fall asleep when I am sitting alone, and
fancy things that have never happened. It has seemed to me
more than once when I have been in a doze, that my dear hus-
band, who died fifteen years since, has come in and sat down
beside me ; and that I have even heard him call me by my name,
Alice, as he used to do. Now, can you tell me whether it is
actually true that Mr. Rochester has asked you to marry him ?
Don't laugh at me. But I really thought he came in here five
minutes ago, and said that in a month you would be his wife."

" He has said the same thing^ to me," I replied.

" He has ! Do you believe him ? Have you accepted him ?"

JANE EYRE. 223

"Yes."

She looked at me bewildered.

" I could never have thought it. He is a proud man : all the
Rochesters were proud: and his father, at least, liked money.
He, too, has always been called careful. He means to many
you?"

- He tells me so."

She surveyed my whole person : in her eyes I read that they
had there found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma.

" It passes me 1" she continued : " but no doubt it is true since
you say so. How it will answer, I cannot tell: I really don't
know. Equality of position and fortune is often advisable in such
cases; and there are twenty years of difference in your ages.
He might almost be your father."

"No, indeed, Mrs. Fairfax 1" exclaimed I, nettled: "he is
nothing like my father 1 No one, who saw us together, would
suppose it for an instant. Mr. Rochester looks as young, and is
as young, as some men at five-and-twenty."

" Is it really for love he is going to marry you ?" she asked.

I was so hurt by her coldness and scepticism, that the tears
rose to my eyes.

• 1 am sorry to grieve you," pursued the widow ; " but you are
so young, and so little acquainted with men, I wished to put you
on your guard. It is an old saying that ' all is not £old that
glitters ;' and in this case I do fear there will be something found
to be different to what either you or I expect."

II Why? — am I a monster? I said : " is it impossible that Mr.
Rochester should have a sincere affection for me ?"

" No : you are very well ; and much improved of late ; and Mr.
Rochester I dare say is fond of you. I have always noticed that
you were a sort of pet of his. There are times when, for your
sake, I have been a little uneasy at his marked preference, and
have wished to put you on your guard ; but I did not like to sug-
gest even the possibility of wrong. I knew such an idea would
shock, perhaps offend you ; and you were so discreet, and so
thoroughly modest and sensible, I hoped you might be trusted to
protect yourself. Last night I cannot tell you what I suffered
when I sought all over the house, and could find you nowhere,
nor the master either; and then, at twelve o'clock, saw you come
in with him."

"Well, nevermind that now," I interrupted impatiently; "it
is enough that all was right."

" I hope all will be right in the end," she said: "but, believe
me, you cannot be too careful. Try and keep Mr. Rochester at
a distance; distrust yourself as well as him. Gentlemen in his
station are not accustomed to marry their governesses."

I was growing truly irritated : happily, Adelc ran in.

"Let me go— let me go to Millcotc tool" she cried. "Mr.
Rochester won't : though there is so much room in the new
carriage. Beg him to let me go, mademoiselle."

224 JANE EYRE.

"That I will, Adele;" and I hastened away with her, glad to
quit my gloomy monitress. The carriage was ready : they were
bringing it round to the front, and my master was pacing the
pavement, Pilot following backwards and forwards.

"Adele may accompany us, may she not, sir?"

" I told her no. I'll have no brats ! — I'll have only you."

"Do let her go, Mr. Rochester, if you please: it would be
better."

" Not it : she will be a restraint."

He was quite peremptory, both in look and voice. The chill of
Mrs. Fairfax's warnings, and the damp of her doubts were upon
me : something of unsubstantially and uncertainty had beset my
hopes. I half lost the sense of power over him. I was about
mechanically to obey him, without further remonstrance ; but as
he helped me into the carriage, he looked at my face.

"What is the matter?" he asked; "all the sunshine is gone.
Do you really wish the bairn to go ? Will it annoy you if she is
left behind?"

" I would far rather she went, sir."

" Then off for your bonnet, and back, like a flash of lighting !"
cried he to Adele.

She obeyed him with what speed she might.

"After all, a single morning's interruption will not matter
much," said he, "when I mean shortly to claim you — your
thoughts, conversation, and company — for life."

Adele, when lifted in, commenced kissing me, by way of
expressing her gratitude for my intercession : she was instantly
stowed away into a corner on the other side of him. She then
peeped round to where I sat; so stern a neighbour was too
restrictive: to him, in his present fractious mood, she dared
whisper no observations, nor ask of him any information.

"Let her come to me," I entreated, "she will, perhaps,
trouble you, sir: there is plenty of room on this side."

He handed her over as if she had been a lap-dog. " I'll send
her to school yet," he said, but now he was smiling.

Adele heard him, and asked if she was to go to school " sans
mademoiselle?"

"Yes," he replied, " absolutely sans mademoiselle; for I am
to take mademoiselle to the moon, and there I shall seek a cave
in one of the white valleys among the volcano-tops, and
mademoiselle shall live with me there, and only me."

" She will have nothing to eat: you will starve her," observed
Adele.

" I shall gather manna for her morning and night : the plains
and hill-sides in the moon are bleached with manna, Adele."

" She will want to warm herself: what will she do for a fire ?"

" Fire rises out of the lunar mountains : when she is cold I'l
carry her up to a peak and lay her down on the edge of a
crater." '

JANE EYRE. 225

" Oh, qu'clle y sera mal— peu comfortable I And her clothes,
they will wear out : how can she get new ones?"

Mr. Rochester professed to be puzzled. "Hem!" said he.
"What would you do, Adele? Cudgel your brains for an expe-
dient. How would a white or a pink cloud answer for a gown,
do you think ? And one could cut a pretty enough scarf out of a
rainbow."

" She is far better as she is," concluded Adele, after musing
some time : " besides, she would get tired of living with only you
in the moon. If I were mademoiselle I would never consent to
go with you."

" She has consented : she has pledged her word."

" But you can't get her there : there is no road to the moon :
it is all air; and neither you nor she can fly."

"Adele, look at that field." We were now outside Thornfield
gates, and bowling lightly along the smooth road to Millcote,
where the dust was well laid by the thunder-storm, and where the
low hedges and lofty timber trees on each side glistened green,
and rain-refreshed.

" In that field, Adele, I was walking late one evening about a
fortnight since — the evening of the day you helped me to make
hay in the orchard meadows; and as I was tired with raking
swaths, I sat down to rest me on a stile : and there I took out a
little book and a pencil, and began to write about a misfortune
that befel me long ago, and a wish I had for happy days to
come : I was writing away very fast, though daylight was fading
from the leaf, when something came up the path and stopped two
yards off me. I looked at it. It was a little thing with a veil of
gossamer on its head. I beckoned it to come near me : it stood
soon at my knee. I never spoke to it, and it never spoke to me,
in words : but I read its eyes, and it read mine ; and our
speechless colloquy was to this effect :

"It was a fairy, and come from Elf-land, it said; and its
errand was to make me happy. I must go with it out of the
common world to a lonely place, such as the moon, for instance ;
and it nodded its head towards her horn, rising over Hay Hill :
it told me of the alabaster cave and silver vale where we might
live. I said I should like to go ; but reminded it, as you did me,
that I had no wings to fly.

" 'Oh,' returned the fairy, ' that does not signify I Here is a
talisman will remove all difficulties;' and she held out a pretty
gold ring. ' Put it,' she said, ' on the fourth finger of my left
hand, and I am yours, and you arc mine ; and we shall leave
earth, and make our own heaven yonder.' She nodded again at
the moon. The ring; Adele, is in my breeches pocket, under the
disguise of a sovereign : but I mean soon to change it to a ring
again."

" But what has mademoiselle to do with it? I don't care for
the fairy : you said it was mademoiselle you would take to the
moon—?"

O

226 JANE EYRE.

" Mademoiselle is a fairy," he said, whispering mysteriously.
Whereupon I told her not to mind his badinage ; and she, on her
part, evinced a fund of genuine French scepticism : denominating
Mr. Rochester "un vrai menteur," and assuring him that she
made no account whatever of his " Contes de fee," and that " du
reste, il n'y avait pas de fees, et quand m£me il y en avait :" she
was sure they would never appear to him, nor ever give him
rings, or offer to live with him in the moon.

The hour spent at Millcote was a somewhat harassing one to
me. Mr. Rochester obliged me to go to a certain silk ware-
house : there I was ordered to choose half a dozen dresses. I
hated the business, I begged leave to defer it : no — it should be
gone through with now. By dint of entreaties expressed in
energetic whispers, I reduced the half dozen to two ; these, how-
ever, he vowed he would select himself. With anxiety I watched
his eye rove over the gay stores : he fixed on a rich silk of the
most brilliant amethyst dye, and a superb pink satin. I told him
in a new series of whispers, that he might as well buy me a gold
gown and a silver bonnet at once : I should certainly never venture
to wear his choice. With infinite difficulty, for he was stubborn
as a stone, I persuaded him to make an exchange in favour of a
sober black satin and pearl-grey silk. "It might pass for the
present," he said; "but he would yet see me glittering like a
parterre."

Glad was I to get him out of the silk warehouse, and then out
of a jeweller's shop : the more he bought me, the more my cheek
burned with a sense of annoyance and degradation. As we
re-entered the carriage, and I sat back feverish and fagged, I
remembered what in the hurry of events, dark and bright, I had
wholly forgotten; the letter of my uncle, John Eyre, to Mrs.
Reed : his intention to adopt me and make me his legatee. " It
would, indeed, be a relief," I thought, "if I had ever so small
an independency : I never can bear being dressed like a doll by
Mr. Rochester, or sitting like a second Danae with the golden
shower falling daily round me. I will write to Madeira the
moment I get home, and tell my uncle John I am going to be
married, and to whom ; if I had but a prospect of one day
bringing Mr. Rochester an accession of fortune, I could better
endure to be kept by him now." And somewhat relieved by this
idea (which I failed not to execute that day), I ventured once
more to meet my master's and lover's eye ; which most pertina-
ciously sought mine, though I averted both face and gaze. He
smiled ; and I thought his smile was such as a sultan might, in
a blissful and fond moment, bestow on a slave his gold and gems
had enriched : I crushed his hand, which was ever hunting mine,
vigorously, and thrust it back to him red with the passionate
pressure.

"You need not look in that way," I said: "if you do, I'll wear
nothing but my old Lowood frocks to the end of the chapter.
1*11 be married in this lilac gingham — you may make a dressing-

JANE EYRE. 227

gown for yourself out of the pearl-grey silk, and an infinite series
of waistcoats out of the black satin."

He chuckled : he rubbed his hands : " Oh, it is rich to see and
hear her 1" he exclaimed. "Is she original? Is she piquant?
I would not exchange this one little English girl for the grand
Turk's whole seraglio; gazelle-eyes, houri forms and all I"

The Eastern allusion bit me again: "I'll not stand you an
inch in the stead of a seraglio," I said; "so don't consider me
an equivalent for one ; if you have a fancy for anything in that
line, away with you, sir, to the bazaars of Stamboul without
delay; and lay out in extensive slave-purchases some of that
spare cash you seem at a loss to spend satisfactorily here."

" And what will you do, Janet, while I am bargaining for so
many tons of flesh and such an assortment of black eyes r '

" I'll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach
liberty to them that are enslaved — your harem inmates amongst
the rest. I'll get admitted there, and I'll stir up mutiny ; and
you, three-tailed bashaw as you are, sir, shall in a trice find
yourself fettered amongst our hands: nor will I, for one, consent
to cut your bonds till you have signed a charter, the most liberal
that despot ever yet conferred 1"

"I would consent to be at your mercy, Jane."

" I would have no mercy, Mr. Rochester, if you supplicated for
it with an eye like that. While you looked so, I should be cer-
tain that whatever charter you might grant under coercion, your
first act, when released, would be to violate its conditions."

" Why, Jane, what would you have? I fear you will compel
me to go tnroueh a private marriage ceremony, besides that per-
formed at the altar. You will stipulate, I see, for peculiar terms
—what will they be?"

"I only want an easy mind, sir; not crushed by crowded
obligations. Do you remember what you said of Celine Varens ?
— ofthe diamonds, the cashmeres you gave her ? I will not be
your English C61ine Varens. I shall continue to act as Adele's
governess; by that I shall earn my board and lodging, and
thirty pounds a year besides. I'll furnish my own wardrobe out
of that money, and you shall give me nothing but "

"Well, but what?"

" Your regard : and if I give you mine in return, that debt will
be quit."

" Well, for cool native impudence, and pure innate pride, you
haven't your equal," said he. We were now approaching Thorn-
field. " Will it please you to dine with me to-day?" he asked,
as we re-entered the gates.

"No, thank you, sir."

" And what for, ' No, thank you ?' if one may inquire."

" I never have dined with you, sir: and I see no reason why I
should now: till "

" Till what ? You delight in half-phrases."

"Till I can't help it."

228 JANE EYRE.

" Do you suppose I eat like an ogre, or a ghoul, that you
dread being the companion of my repast ?"

" I have formed no supposition on the subject, sir; but I want
to go on as usual for another month."

" You will give up your governessing slavery at once."

" Indeed ! begging your pardon, sir, I shall not. I shall just
go on with it as usual. I shall keep out of your way all day, as I
have been accustomed to do : you may send for me in the even-
ing, when you feel disposed to see me, and I'll come then, but, at
no other time."

" I want a smoke, Jane, or a pinch of suuff, to comfort me
under all this ' pour me donner une contenance,' as Adele would
say; and unfortunately I have neither my cigar-case nor my
snuff-box. But listen — whisper— it is your time, now, little
tyrant, but it will be mine presently : and when once I have fairly
seized you, to have and to hold. I'll just — figuratively speaking
— attach you to a chain like this" (touching his watch-guard.)
"Yes, bonny wee thing, I'll wear you in my bosom, lest my
jewel I should tyne."

He said this as he helped me to alight from the carriage ; and
while he afterwards lifted out Adele, I entered the house, and
made good my retreat upstairs.

He duly summoned me to his presence in the evening. I had
prepared an occupation for him, for I was determined not to
spend the whole time in a tete-a-tete conversation. I remem-
bered his fine voice ; I knew he liked to sing — good singers
generally do. I was no vocalist myself, and in his fastidious
judgment, no musician either; but I delighted in listening when
the performance was good. No sooner had twilight, that hour
of romance, began to lower her blue and starry banner over the
lattice, than I rose, opened the piano, and entreated him, for the
love of heaven, to give me a song. He said I was a capricious
witch, and that he would rather sing another time ; but I averred
that no time was like the present.

" Did I like his voice ?" he asked.

" Very much." I was not fond of pampering that susceptible
vanity of his ; but for once, and from motives of expediency, I
would e'en soothe and stimulate it.

" Then, Jane, you must play the accompaniment."

"Very well, sir, I will try."

I did try, but was presently swept off the stool and denominated
" a little bungler." Being pushed unceremoniously to one side
— which was precisely what I wished — he usurped my place, and
proceeded to accompany himself : for he could play as well as
sing. I hied me to the window-recess ; and while I sat there
and looked out on the still trees and dim lawn, to a sweet air was
sung, in mellow tones, the following strain :

The truest love that ever heart
Felt at its kindled core,

JANE EYRE. 229

Did through each vein, in quickened start,
The tide of being poor.

Her coming was my hope each day,

Her parting was my pain ;
The chance that did her steps delay

Was ice in every vein.

I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,

As I loved, loved to be ;
And to Ibis object did I press

As blind as eagerly.

But wide as pathless was the space

That lay, our lives, between,
And dangerous as the foamy race

Of ocean-surges green.

And haunted as a robber-path

Through wilderness or wood ?
For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,

Between our spirits stood.

I dangers dared ; I hind'rance scorned ;

I omens did defy :
Whatever menaced, harassed, warned,

I passed impetuous by.

On sjed my rainbow fast as light ;

I flew as in a dream ;
For glorious rose upon my sight

That child of Shower and Gleam.

Still bright on clouds of suffering dim

Shines that soft, solemn joy ;
Nor care I now how dense and grim

Disasters gather nigh.

I care not in this moment sweet,

Though all I have rushed o'er
Should come on pinion, strong and fleet,

Proclaiming vengeance sore :

Though haughty Hate should strike me down,

Right, bar approach to me,
And grinding Might, with furious frown,

Swear endless enmity.

My love has placed her little hand

With noble faith in mine,
And vowed that wedlock's sacred band

Our nature shall entwine.

My love has sworn, with scaling kiss,

With me to live — to die ;
I have at last my nameless bliss j

As I love — loved am 1 1

230 JANE EYRE.

He rose and came towards me, and I saw his face all kindled,
and his full falcon-eye flashing, and tenderness and passion in
every lineament. I quailed momentarily — then I rallied. Soft
scene, daring demonstration, I would not have ; and I stood in
peril of both : a weapon of defence must be prepared — I whetted
my tongue. As he reached me, I asked with asperity, "Whom
he was going to marry now ?"

"That was a strange question to be put by his darling Jane."

" Indeed! I considered it a very natural and necessary one :
he had talked of his future wife dying with him. What did he
mean by such a pagan idea ? / had no intention of dying with
him — he might depend on that."

" Oh, all he longed, all he prayed for, was that I might live
with him. Death was not for such as I."

" Indeed it was : I had as good a right to die when my time
came as he had : but I should bide that time, and not be hurried
away in a suttee."

"Would I forgive him for the selfish idea, and prove my
pardon by a reconciling kiss ?"

" No ; I would rather be excused."

Here I heard myself apostrophised as a "hard little thing;"
and it was added, " any other woman would have been melted to
marrow at hearing such stanzas crooned in her praise."

I assured him I was naturally hard — very flinty, and that he
would often find me so ; and that, moreover, I was determined to
show him divers rugged points in my character before the
ensuing four weeks elapsed : he should know fully what sort of a
bargain he had made, while there was yet time to rescind it.

" Would I be quiet, and talk rationally ?"

"I would be quiet if he liked; and as to talking rationally, I
flattered myself I was doing that now."

He fretted, pished and pshawed. "Very good," I thought,
" you may fume and fidget as you please ; but this is the best plan
to pursue with you, I am certain. I like you more than I can
say ; but I'll not sink into a bathos of sentiment : and with this
needle of repartee I'll keep you from the edge of the gulf too ;
and, moreover, maintain by its pungent aid that distance
between you and myself most conducive to our real mutual
advantage."

From less to more, I worked him up to considerable irritation ;
then after he had retired, in dudgeon, guite to the other end of
the room, I got up, and saying, "I wish you good-night, sir,"
in my natural and wonted respectful manner, I slipped out by the
side-door and got away.

The system thus entered on, I pursued during the whole
season of probation ; and with the best success. He was kept,
to be sure, rather cross and crusty ; but on the whole I could see
he was excellently entertained ; and that a lamb-like submission
and turtle-dove sensibility, while fostering his despotism more,

JANE EYRE. 231

would have pleased his judgment, satisfied his common-sense,
and even suited his taste, less.

In other people's presence I was, as formerly, deferential and
quiet ; any other line of conduct being uncalled for : it was only
in the evening conferences I thus thwarted and afflicted him.
He continued to send for me punctually the moment the clock
struck seven ; though when I appeared before him now, he had
no such honeyed terms as "love" and "darling" on his lips:
the best words at my service were "provoking puppet," " mali-
cious elf," "sprite," "changeling," &c. tor caresses, too, I
now got grimaces ; for a pressure of the hand, a pinch on the
arm ; for a kiss on the cheek, a severe tweak of the ear. It was
all right : at present I decidedly preferred these fierce favours to
anything more tender. Mrs. Fairfax, I saw, approved me : her
anxiety on my account vanished : therefore I was certain I did
well. Meantime, Mr. Rochester affirmed I was wearing him to
skin and bone, and threatened awful vengeance for my present
conduct at some period fast coming. I laughed in my sleeve at
his menaces: "I can keep you in reasonable check now," I
reflected; "and I don't doubt to be able to do it hereafter: if
one expedient loses its virtue, another must be devised."

Yet after all my task was not an easy one: often I would
rather have pleased than teased him. My future husband was
becoming to me my whole world ; and more than the world :
almost my hope of heaven. He stood between me and every
thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenes between man and
the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God for His
creature : of whom I had made an idol.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE month of courtship had wasted : its very last hours were
being numbered. There was no putting off the day that
advanced — the bridal day; and all preparations for its arrival
were complete. /, at least, had nothing more to do : there were
my trunks, packed, locked, corded, ranged in a row along the
wall of my little chamber ; to-morrow, at this time, they would
be far on their road to London: and so should I (D.V.), or
rather, not I, but one Jane Rochester, a person whom as yet I
knew not. The cams of address alone remained to nail on :
they lay, four little squares, on the drawer. Mr. Rochester had

himself written the direction, " Mrs. Rochester, Hotel,

London," on each : I could uot persuade myself to affix them, or
to have them affixed. Mrs. Rochester! She did not exist ; she
would not be born till to-morrow, some time after eight o'clock
a.m. ; and I would wait to be assured she had come into the

232 JAKE EYRE.

world alive, before I assigned to her all that property. It was
enough that in yonder closet, opposite my dressing-table, gar-
ments said to be hers had already displaced my black stuff
Lowood frock and straw bonnet: for not to me appertained that
suit of wedding raiment ; the pearl- coloured robe, the vapoury
veil, pendent from the usurped portmanteau. I shut the closet
to conceal the strange, wraith-like apparel it contained ; which,
at this evening hour — nine o'clock — gave out certainly a most
ghostly shimmer through the shadow of my apartment. " I will
leave you by yourself, white dream," I said. " I am feverish : I
hear the wind blowing : I will go out of doors and feel it."

It was not only the hurry of preparation that made me feverish,
not only the anticipation of the great change — the new life
which was to commence to-morrow : both these circumstances
had their share, doubtless, in producing that restless, excited
mood which hurried me forth at this late hour into the
darkening grounds ; but a third cause influenced my mind more
than they.

I had at heart a strange and anxious thought. Something
had happened which I could not comprehend ; no one knew of or
had seen the event but myself : it had taken place the preceding
night. Mr. Rochester that night was absent from home ; nor
was he yet returned ; business had called him to a small estate
of two or three farms he possessed thirty miles off — business it
was requisite he should settle in person, previously to his medi-
tated departure from England. I waited now his return ; eager
to disburthen my mind, and to seek of him the solution of the
enigma that perplexed me. Stay till he comes, reader,
and, when I disclose my secret to him, you shall share the
confidence.

I sought the orchard ; driven to its shelter by the wind, which
all day had blown strong and full from the south : without, how-
ever, bringing a speck of rain. Instead of subsiding as night
drew on, it seemed to augment its rush and deepen its roar.
The trees blew steadfastly one way, never writhing round, and
scarcely tossing back their boughs once in an hour; so con-
tinuous was the strain bending their branchy heads northward
— the clouds drifted from pole to pole, fast following, mass
on mass : no glimpse of blue sky had been visible that July
day.

It was not without a certain wild pleasure I ran before the
wind delivering my trouble of mind to the measureless air-torrent
thundering through space. Descending the laurel-walk, I faced
the wreck of the chestnut-tree ; it stood up, black and riven, the
trunk, split down the centre, gasped ghastly. The cloven halves
were not broken from each other, for the firm base and strong
roots kept them unsundered below ; though community of vitality
was destroyed — the sap could flow no more ; their great boughs
on each side were dead, and next winter's tempests would be sure

JANE EYRE. 233

to fell one or both to earth : as yet, however, they might be said
to form one tree— a ruin, but an entire ruin.

" You did right to hold fast to each other," I said: as if the
monster-splinters were living things, and could hear me. '* I
think, scathed as you look, and charred and scorched, there
must be a little sense of life in you yet ; rising out of that ad-
hesion at the faithful honest roots ; you will never have green
leaves more — never more see birds making nests and singing
idyls in your boughs; the time of pleasure and love is over
with you ; but you are not desolate : each of you has a comrade
to sympathise with him in his decay."

As I looked up at them, the moon appeared momentarily in
that part of the sky which filled their fissure, her disk was blood-
red and half overcast, she seemed to throw on me one bewildered,
dreary glance, and buried herself again instantly in the deep
drift of cloud. The wind fell, for a second, round Thornfield, but
far away over wood and water, poured a wild, melancholy wail ;
it was sad to listen to, and I ran off again.

Here and there I strayed through the orchard, gathered up the
apples with which the grass round the tree roots was thickly
strewn ; then I employed myself in dividing the ripe from the
unripe ; I carried them into the house and put them away in the
store-room. Then I repaired to the library to ascertain whether
the fire was lit ; for, though summer, I knew on such a gloomy
evening Mr. Rochester would like to see a cheerful hearth when
he came in : yes, the fire had been kindled some time, and burnt
well. I placed his arm-chair by the chimney-corner : I wheeled
the table near it : I let down the curtain, and had the candles
brought in ready for lighting. More restless than ever, when I
had completed these arrangements I could not sit still : nor even
remain in the house : a little timepiece in the room and the old
clock in the hall simultaneously struck ten.

" How late it grows !" I said : " I will run down to the gates :
it is'moonlight at intervals ; I can see a good way on the road.
He may be coming now, and to meet him will save some minutes
of suspense."

The wind roared high in the great trees which embowered the
gates ; but the road as far as I could see, to the right hand and
the left, was all still and solitary, save for the shadows of clouds
crossing it at intervals, as the moon looked out, it was but a
long pale line, unvaried by one moving speck.

A puerile tear dimmed my eye while I looked, a tear of disap-
pointment and impatience ; ashamed of it, I wiped it away. I
lingered, the moon shut herself wholly within her chamber, and
drew close her curtain of dense cloud : the night grew dark, rain
came driving fast on the gale.

" I wish he would come ! I wish he would come 1" I exclaimed,
seized with hypochondriac foreboding. I had expected his arrival
before tea; now it was dark: what could keep him? Had an
accident happened ? The event of last night again recurred to

234 JANE EYRE.

me. I interpreted it as a warning of disaster. I feared my hopes
were too bright to be realised : and I had enjoyed so much bliss
lately that I imagined my fortune had passed its meridian, and
must now decline.

"Well, I cannot return to the house," I thought; "I cannot
sit by the fireside, while he is abroad in inclement weather, better
tire my limbs than strain my heart ; I will go forward and meet
him."

I set out ; I walked fast, but not far ; ere I had measured a
quarter of a mile, I heard the tramp of hoofs ; a horseman came
on, full gallop ; a dog ran by his side. Away with evil presenti-
ment ! It was he ; here he was, mounted on Mesrour, followed by
Pilot. He saw me ; for the moon had opened a blue field in the
sky, and rode in it watery bright : he took his hat off, and waved
it round his head. I now ran to meet him.

" There 1" he exclaimed, as he stretched out his hand and bent
from the saddle: "You can't do without me, that is evident.
Step on my boot-toe, give me both hands : mount !"

I obeyed; joy made me agile: I sprang up before him. A
hearty kissing I got for a welcome ; and some boastful triumph :
which I swallowed as well as I could. He checked himself in
his exultation to demand, —

" But is there anything the matter, Janet, that you come to
meet me at such an hour ? Is there anything wrong ?"

"No: but I thought you would never come. I could not
bear to wait in the house for you, especially with this rain and
wind."

" Rain and wind, indeed ! Yes, you are dripping like a mer-
maid ; pull my cloak round you : but I think you are feverish,
Jane : both your cheek and hand are burning hot. I ask again,
is there anything the matter?"
" Nothing, now; I am neither afraid nor unhappy."
" Then you have been both ?"

" Rather; but I'll tell you all about it by-and-bye, sir; and I
dare say you will only laugh at me for my pains."

" I'll laugh at you heartily when to-morrow is past; till then
I dare not ; my prize is not certain. This is you ; who have been
as slippery as an eel this last month, and as thorny as a briar-
rose ? I could not lay a finger anywhere but I was pricked ;
and now I seem to have gathered up a stray lamb in my arms,
you wandered out of the fold to seek your shepherd, did you,
Jane?"

" I wanted you: but don't boast. Here we are at Thornfield;
now let me get down."

He landed me on the pavement. As John took his horse, and
he followed me into the hall, he told me to make haste and put
something dry on, and then return to him in the library ; and
he stopped me, as I made for the staircase, to extort a promise
that I would not be long: nor was I long; in five minutes I
rejoined him. I found him at supper.

JANE EYRE. 235

"Take a seat and bear me company, Jane: please God, it
is the last meal but one you will eat at Thornfield Hall for a long
time."

I sat down near him ; but told him I could not eat.

" Is it because you have the prospect of a journey before you,
Jane? Is it the thoughts of going to London that takes away
your appetite?"

'• I cannot see my prospects clearly to-night, sir; and I hardly
know what thoughts I have in my head. Everything in life
seems unreal."

" Except me; I am substantial enough: touch me."

" You, sir, are the most phantom -like of all ; you are a mere
dream "

He held out his hand, laughing.

" Is that a dream ?" said ne, placing it close to my eyes. He
had a rounded, muscular, and vigorous hand, as well as a long,
strong arm.

"Yes; though I touch it, it is a dream," said I, as I put it
down from before my face. " Sir, have you finished supper ?"

"Yes, Jane."

I rang the bell, and ordered away the tray. When we were
again alone, I stirred the fire, and then took a low seat at my
master's knee.

" It is near midnight," I said.

"Yes; but remember, Jane, you promised to wake with me
the night before my wedding."

"I did; and I will keep my promise, for an hour or two at
least ; I have no wish to go to bed."

"Are all your arrangements complete ?"

"All, sir."

'And on my part, likewise," he returned, "I have settled
everything; and we shall leave Thornfield to-morrow, within half
an hour after our return from church."

"Very well, sir."

"With what an extraordinary smile you uttered that word —
'very well,' Tanel What a bright spot of colour you have on
each cheek I and how strangely your eyes glitter 1 Are you
well?"

"I believe I am."

" Believe I What is the matter? Tell me what you feel."

" I could not, sir: no words could tell you what I feel. I wish
this present hour would never end : who knows with what fate
the next may come charged ?"

" This is hypochondria, Jane. You have been over-excited, or
over- fatigued."

" Do you, sir, feel calm and happy ?"

" Calm ?— no : but happy — to the heart's core."

I looked up at him to read the signs of bliss in his face, it was
ardent and flushed.

" Give me your confidence, Jane," he said : " relieve your mind

236 JANE EYRE.

of any weight that oppresses it, by imparting it to me. What do
you fear ? — that I shall not prove a good hasband ?"

" It is the idea farthest from my thoughts."

"Are you apprehensive of the new sphere you are about to
enter ?— of the new life into which you are passing ?"

"No."

"You puzzle me, Jane: your look and tone of sorrowful
audacity perplex and pain me. I want an explanation."

" Then, sir — listen. You were from home last night ?"

"I was: I know that; and you hinted a while ago at some-
thing which had happened in my absence : nothing, probably, of
consequence ; but, in short, it has disturbed you. Let me hear
it. Mrs. Fairfax has said something, perhaps? or you have
overheard the servants talk ?— your sensitive self-respect has
been wounded?"

"No, sir." It struck twelve — I waited till the timepiece had
concluded its silver chime, and the clock its hoarse, vibrating
stroke, and then I proceeded.

"All day, yesterday, I was very busy, and very happy in my
ceaseless bustle ; for I am not, as you seem to think, troubled by
any haunting fears about the new sphere, et cetra : I think it a
glorious thing to have the hope of living with you, because I love
you. No, sir, don't caress me now, let me talk undisturbed.
Yesterday I trusted well in Providence, and believed that events
were working together for your good and mine : it was a fine day,
if you recollect — the calmness of the air and sky forbade appre-
hensions respecting your safety or comfort on your journey. I
walked a little while on the pavement after tea, thinking of
you; and I beheld you in imagination so near me, I scarcely
missed your actual presence. I thought of the life that lay
before me— your life, sir — an existence more expansive and
stirring than my own : as much more so as the depths of the sea
to which the brook runs, are than the shallows of its own strait
channel. I wondered why moralists call this world a dreary
wilderness : for me it blossomed like a rose. Just at sunset, the
air turned cold and the sky cloudy : I went in. Sophie called me
upstairs to look at my wedding-dress, which they had just
brought ; and under it in the box I found your present — the veil
which, in your princely extravagance, you sent for from London :
resolved, I suppose, since I would not have jewels, to cheat me
into accepting something as costly. I smiled as I unfolded it,
and devised how I would tease you about your aristocratic tastes,
and your efforts to masque your plebeian bride in the attributes^
of a peeress. I thought how I would carry down to you the"
square of unembroidered blond I had myself prepared as a cover-
ing for my low-born head, and ask if that was not good enough
for a woman who could bring her husband neither fortune,
beauty, nor connections. I saw plainly how you would look;
and heard your impetuous republican answers, and your haughty
disavowal of any necessity on your part to augment your wealth,

JANE EYRE. 237

or elevate your standing, by marrying either a purse or a
coronet."

" How well you read me, you witch 1" interposed Mr. Roches-
ter: " but what did you find in the veil besides its embroidery?
Did you find poison, or a dagger, that you look so mournful
now?"

" No, no, sir; besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric,
I found nothing save Fairfax Rochester's pride; and that did
not scare me, because I am used to the sight of the demon.
But, sir, as it grew dark, the wind rose : it blew yesterday even-
ing, not as it blows now — wild and high — but 'with a sullen,
moaning sound ' far more eerie. I wished you were at home. I
came into this room, and the sight of the empty chair and fire-
less hearth chilled me. For some time after I went to bed I
could not sleep— a sense of anxious excitement distressed me.
The gale still rising, seemed to my ear to muffle a mournful
under-sound ; whether in the house or abroad I could not at first
tell, but it recurred, doubtful yet doleful at every lull : at last I
made out it must be some dog howling at a distance. I was glad
when it ceased. On sleeping, I continued in dreams the idea of
a dark and gusty night. I continued also the wish to be with
you, and experienced a strange, regretful consciousness, of some
barrier dividing us. During all my first sleep I was following the
windings of an unknown road ; total obscurity environed me ;
rain pelted me ; I was burdened with the charge of a little child
— a very small creature, too young and feeble to walk, and which
shivered in my cold arms, and wailed piteously in my ear. I
thought, sir, that you were on the road a long way before me;
and 1 strained every nerve to overtake you, and made effort on
effort to utter your name and entreat you to stop—but my move-
ments were fettered ; and my voice still died away inarticulate ;
while you, I felt, withdrew farther and farther every moment."

" And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane, when I
am close to you ? Little nervous subject 1 Forget visionary woe,
and think only of real happiness 1 You say you love me, Janet :
yes— 1 will not forget that ; and you cannot deny it. Those words
did not die inarticulate on your lips. I heard them clear and
soft : a thought too solemn, perhaps, but sweet as music-—' I
think it is a glorious thing to have the hope of living with you,
Edward, because I love you.' Do you love me, Jane ? repeat it."

" I do, sir— I do, with my whole heart."

"Well," he said, after some minutes' silence, "it is strange;
but that sentence has penetrated my breast painfully. Why ? I
think because you said it with such an earnest, religious energy ;
and because your upward gaze at me now is the very sublime of
faith, truth, and devotion : it is too much as if some spirit were
near me. Look wicked, Jane ; as you know well how to look ;
coin one of your wild, shy, provoking smiles ; tell me you hate
me — tease me, vex me. do anything but move me: I would
rather be incensed than saddened/'

238 JANE EYRE.

11 1 will tease you and vex you to your heart's content, when I
have finished my tale : but hear me to the end."

" I thought, Jane, you had told me all. I thought I had found
the source of your melancholy in a dream."

I shook my head. "What! is there more? But I will not
believe it to be anything important. I warn you of incredulity
beforehand. Go on."

The disquietude of his air, the somewhat apprehensive
impatience of his manner, surprised me : but I proceeded.

"I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a
dreary ruin, the retreat of bats and owls. I thought that of all
the stately front nothing remained but a shell-like wall, very high,
and very fragile-looking. I wandered, on a moonlight night,
through the grass-grown enclosure within : here I stumbled over
a marble hearth, and there over a fallen fragment of cornice.
Wrapped up in a shawl, I still carried the unknown little child :
I might not lay it down anywhere, however tired were my arms —
however much its weight impeded my progress, I must retain it.
I heard the gallop of a horse at a distance on the road : I was
sure it was you : and you were departing for many years, and for
a distant country. I climbed the thin wall with frantic perilous
haste, eager to catch one glimpse of you from the top : the
stones rolled from under my feet, the ivy branches I grasped gave
way, the child clung round my neck in terror, and almost
strangled me : at last I gained the summit. I saw you like a
speck on a white track, lessening every moment. The blast blew
so strong I could not stand. I sat down on the narrow ledge ; I
hushed the scared infant in my lap : you turned an angle of the
road ; I bent forward to take a last look ; the wall crumbled ; I
was shaken ; the child rolled from my knee ; I lost my balance,
fell, and woke."

" Now, Jane, that is all."

"All the preface, sir; the tale is yet to come. On waking, a
gleam dazzled my eyes : I thought — oh, it is daylight ! But I
was mistaken : it was only candlelight. Sophie, I supposed, had
come in. There was a light on the dressing-table, and the door
of the closet, where, before going to bed, I had hung my wedding
dress and veil, stood open : I heard a rustling there. I asked,
' Sophie what are you doing ?' No one answered, but a form
emerged from the closet ; it took the light-, held it aloft and sur-
veyed the garments pendent from the portmanteau. ' Sophie !
Sophie ! ' I again cried : and still it was silent. I had risen up
in bed, I bent forward : first surprise, then bewilderment, came
over me ; and then my blood crept cold through my veins. Mr.
Rochester, this was not Sophie, it was not Leah, it was not Mrs.
Fairfax : it was not — no, I was sure of it, and am still — it was
not even that strange woman, Grace Poole."

" It must have been one of them," interrupted my master.

II No, sir, I solemnly assure you to the contrary. The shape
standing before me had never crossed my eyes within the

JANE EYRE. 239

precincts of Thornfield Hall before; the height, the contour
were new to me."

••Describe it, Jane."

" It seemed, sir, a woman, tall and large, with thick and dark
hair hanging long down her back. I know not what dress she
had on : it was white and straight ; but whether gown, sheet, or
shroud, I cannot tell."

••Did you see her face ?"

•• Not at first. But presently she took my veil from its place ;
she held it up, and gazed at it long, and then she threw it over
her own head, and turned to the mirror. At that moment I saw
the reflection of the visage and features quite distinctly in the
dark oblong glass."

" And how were they ?"

•' Fearful and ghastly to me — oh, sir, I never saw a face like
it ! It was a discoloured face — it was a savage face. I wish I
could forget the roll of the red eyes and the fearful blackened
inflation of the lineaments !"

•• Ghosts are usually pale, Jane."

•• This, sir, was purple : the lips were swelled and dark ; the
brow furrowed ; the black eyebows widely raised over the blood-
shot eyes. Shall I tell you of what it reminded me ?"

••You may."

•• Of the foul German spectre — the Vampyre."

••Ah! What did it do!"

" Sir, it removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two
parts, and flinging both on the floor, trampled on them."

•• Afterwards ? ,Y

•• It drew aside the window-curtain and looked out : perhaps it
saw dawn approaching, for, taking the candle, it retreated to the
door. Just at my bedside, the figure stopped: the fiery eye
glared upon me— she thrust up her candle close to my face, and
extinguished it under my eyes. I was aware her lurid visage
flamed over mine, and I lost consciousness : for the second time
in my life — only the second time — I became insensible from
terror."

•• Who was with you when you revived ?"

•• No one, sir; but the broad day. I rose, bathed my head and
face in water, drank a long draught ; felt that though enfeebled
I was not ill, and determined that to none but you would I impart
this vision. Now, sir, tell me who and what that woman was ?"

••The creature of an over-stimulated brain : that is certain. I
must be careful of you, my treasure : nerves like yours were not
made for rough handling."

•• Sir, depend on it, my nerves were not in fault ; the thing was
real : the transaction actually took place."

"And your previous dreams: were they real too? Is Thorn-
field Hall a ruin? Am I severed from you by insuperable
obstacles ? Am I leaving you without a tear — without a kiss —
without a word?"

240 JANE EYRE.

"Not yet."

"Am I about to do it? Why the day is already commenced
which is to bind us indissolubly ; and when we are once united,
there shall be no recurrence of these mental terrors ; I guarantee
that."

" Mental terrors, sir! I wish I could believe them to be only
such ; I wish it more now than ever ; since even you cannot
explain to me the mystery of that awful visitant."

" And since I cannot do it, Jane, it must have been unreal."

" But, sir, when I said so to myself on rising this morning, and
when I looked round the room to gather courage and comfort
from the cheerful aspect of each familiar object in full daylight,
there — on the carpet — I saw what gave the distinct lie to my
hypothesis— the veil, torn from top to bottom in two halves !"

I felt Mr. Rochester start and shudder ; he hastily flung his
arms round me:" Thank God !" he exclaimed, " that if anything
malignant did come near you last night, it was only the veil that
was harmed. Oh, to think what might have happened !"

He drew his breath short, and strained me so close to him, I
could scarcely pant. After some minutes' silence, he continued,
cheerily :

" Now, Janet, I'll explain to you all about it. It was half
dream, half reality : a woman did, I doubt not, enter your room :
and that woman was — must have been — Grace Poole. You call
her a strange being yourself: from all you know, you have reason
so to call her — what did she do to me ? what to Mason ? In a
state between sleeping and waking you noticed her entrance and
her actions ; but feverish, almost delirious as you were, you
ascribed to her a goblin appearance different from her own : the
long dishevelled hair, the swelled black face, the exaggerated
stature, were figments of imagination ; results of nightmare : the
spiteful tearing of the veil was real, and it is like her. I see you
would ask why I keep such a woman in my house. When we
have been married a year and a day, I will tell you; but not
now. Are you satisfied, Jane ? Do accept my solution of the
mystery?"

I reflected, and in truth it appeared to me the only possible
one. Satisfied I was not, but to please him I endeavoured to
appear so — relieved I certainly did feel ; so I answered him with
a contented smile. And now, as.it was long past one, I pre-
pared to leave him.

" Does not Sophie sleep with Adele in the nursery?" he asked,
as I lit my candle.

"Yes, sir."

"And there is room enough in Adele's little bed for you. You
must share it with her to-night, Jane : it is no wonder that the
incident you have related should make you nervous, and I would
rather you did not sleep alone: promise me to go to the
nursery."

" I shall be very glad to do so, sir/'

JANE EYRE. 24I

■ And fasten the door securely on the inside. Wake Sophie
when you go upstairs, under pretence of requesting her to rouse
you in good time to-morrow; for you must be dressed and have
finished breakfast before eight. And now, no more sombre
thoughts : chase dull care away, Janet. Don't you hear to what
soft whispers the wind has fallen 7 and there is no more beating
of rain against the window-panes. Look here" — he lifted up
the curtain—" it is a lovely night I"

It was. Half heaven was pure and stainless : the clouds, now
trooping before the wind, which had shifted to the west, were
filing off eastward, in long, silvered columns. The moon shone
peacefully.

"Well," said Mr. Rochester, gazing inquiringly into my eyes,
" how is my Janet now ?"

"The night is serene, sir; and so am I."

"And you will not dream of separation and sorrow to-night;
but of happv love and blissful union."

This prediction was but half fulfilled : I did not indeed dream
of sorrow, but as little did I dream of joy; for I never slept at
all. With little Adele in my arms, I watched the slumber of
childhood — so tranquil, so passionless, so innocent— and waited
for the coming day: all my life was awake and astir in my
frame: and as soon as the sun rose I rose too. I remember
Adile clung to me as I left her : I remember I kissed her as I
loosened her little hands from my neck ; and I cried over her with
strange emotion, and quitted her because I feared my sobs
would break her still sound repose. She seemed the emblem of
my past life ; and he, I was now to array myself to meet, the
dread, but adored, type of my unknown future day.

CHARTER XXVI.

SOPHIE came at seven to dress me; she was very long
indeed in accomplishing her task ; so long, that Mr.
Rochester, grown, I suppose, impatient of my delay, sent up to
ask why I did not come. She was just fastening my veil (the
plain square of blond after all) to my hair with a brooch; I
hurried from under her hands as soon as I could.

"Stop!" she cried in French. "Look at yourself in the
mirror: you have not taken one peep."

So I turned at the door : I saw a robed and veiled figure, so
unlike my usual self that it seemed almost the image of a
stranger. "Jane!" called a voice, and I hastened down. I
was received at the foot of the stairs by Mr. Rochester.

"Lingerer," he said, "my brain is on fire with impatience;
and you tarry so long 1"

He took me into the dining-room, surveyed me keenly all over,

P

242 JANE EYRE.

pronounced me " fair as a lily, and not only the pride of his life,
but the desire of his eyes," and then telling me he would give me
but ten minutes to eat some breakfast, he rang the bell. One of
his lately hired servants, a footman, answered it.

" Is John getting the carriage ready?"

"Yes, sir."

" Is the luggage brought down ?"

" They are bringing it down, sir."

" Go you to the church : see if Mr. Wood (the clergyman) and
the clerk are there : return and tell me."

The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the
gates : the footman soon returned.

" Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice."

" And the carriage ?"

"The horses are harnessing."

"We shall not want it to go to church ; but it must be ready
the moment we return : all the boxes and luggage arranged and
strapped on, and the coachman in his seat,"

"Yes, sir."

"Jane, are you ready?"

I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no rela-
tives to wait for or marshal : none but Mr. Rochester and I.
Mrs. Fairfax stood in the hall as we passed. I would fain have
spoken to her, but my hand was held by a grip of iron : I was
hurried along by a stride I could hardly follow ; and to look at
Mr. Rochester's face was to feel that not a second of delay
would be tolerated for any purpose. I wonder what other bride-
groom ever looked as he did — so bent up to a purpose, so grimly
resolute : or who, under such steadfast brows, ever revealed such
flaming and flashing eyes.

I know not whether the day was fair or foul ; in descending the
drive, I gazed neither on sky nor earth : my heart was with my
eyes ; and both seemed migrated into Mr. Rochester's frame. I
wanted to see the invisible thing on which, as we went along, he
appeared to fasten a glance fierce and fell. I wanted to feel the
thoughts whose force he seemed breasting and resisting.

At the churchyard wicket he stopped : he discovered I was
quite out of breath. "Am I cruel in my love?" he said.
" Delay an instant : lean on me, Jane."

And now I can recall the picture of the grey old house of God
rising calm before me, of a rook wheeling round the steeple, of a
ruddy morning sky beyond. I remember something, too, of the
green grave-mounds; and I have not forgotten, either, two
figures of strangers, straying amongst the low hillocks, and
reading the mementoes graven on the few mossy head-stones.
I noticed them, because, as they saw us, they passed round to
the back of the church ; and I doubted not they were going to
enter by the side-aisle door, and witness the ceremony. By Mr.
Rochester they were not observed ; he was earnestly looking at
my face, from which the blood had, I dare say, momentarily

JANE EYRE. 243

fled ; for I felt my forehead dewy, and my cheeks and lips cold.
When I rallied, which I soon did, he walked gently with me up
the path to the porch.

We entered the quiet and humble temple ; the priest waited in
his white surplice at the lowly altar, the clerk beside him. All
was still : two shadows only moved in a remote corner. My
conjecture had been correct : the strangers had slipped in before
us, and they now stood by the vault of the Rochesters, their
backs towards us, viewing through the rails the old time-stained
marble tomb, where a kneeling angel guarded the remains of
Darner de Rochester, slain at Marston Moor in the time of the
civil wars ; and of Elizabeth, his wife.

Our place was taken at the communion rails. Hearing a
cautious step behind me, I glanced over my shoulder: one of the
strangers — a gentleman, evidently — was advancing up the
chancel. The service began. The explanation of the intent of
matrimony was gone through ; and then the clergyman came a
step further forward, and, bending slightly towards Mr.
Rochester, went on.

" I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the
dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be
disclosed,) that if either of you know any impediment why ye
may not lawfully be joined together in matrimony, ye do now
confess it ; for be ye well assured that so many as are coupled
together otherwise than God's word doth allow, are not joined
together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful."

He paused, as the custom is. When is the pause after that
sentence ever broken by reply ? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred
years. And the clergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from
his book, and had held his breath but for a moment, was pro-
ceeding ; his hand was already stretched towards Mr. Rochester,
as his lips unclosed to ask, " Wilt thou have this woman for thy
wedded wife?" when a distinct and near voice said: "The
marriage cannot go on : I declare the existence of an impedi-
ment."

The clergyman looked up at the speaker, and stood mute ; the
clerk did the same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an
earthquake had rolled under his feet : taking a firmer footing,
and not turning his head or eyes, he said, " Proceed."

Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep
but low intonation. Presently Mr. Wood said :

" I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has
been asserted, and evidence of its truth or falsehood."

"The ceremony is quite broken off," subjoined the voice
behind us. "I am in a condition to prove my allegation : an
insuperable impediment to this marriage exists.

Mr. Rochester heard, but heeded not : he stood stubborn and
rigid : making no movement, but to possess himself of my hand.
What a hot and strong grasp he had J and how like quarried

244 JANE EYRE.

marble was his pale, firm, massive front at this moment ! How
his eye shone, still, watchful, and yet wild beneath I

Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. "What is the nature of the
impediment?" he asked. "Perhaps it may be got over —
explained away?"

"Hardly," was the answer: "I have called it insuperable,
and I speak advisedly."

The speaker came forwards, and leaned on the rails. He con-
tinued, uttering each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not
loudly.

"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage.
Mr. Rochester has a wife now living."

My nerves vibrated to those low-spoken words as they had
never vibrated to thunder — my blood felt their subtle violence as
it had never felt frost or fire : but I was collected, and in no
danger of swooning. I looked at Mr. Rochester : I made him
look at me. His whole face was colourless rock : his eye was
both spark and flint. He disavowed nothing : he seemed as if
he would defy all things. Without speaking; without smiling;
without seeming to recognise in me a human being, he only
twined my waist with his arm, and riveted me to his side.

" Who are you ?" he asked of the intruder.

" My name is Briggs, a solicitor of Street, London."

" And you would thrust on me a wife ?"

"I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir; which the
law recognises, if you do not."

" Favour me with an account of her — with her name, her
parentage, her place of abode."

"Certainly." Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his
pocket, and read out in a sort of official nasal voice :

" ' I affirm and can prove that on the 20th of October, A.D.

(a date of fifteen years back,) Edward Fairfax Rochester, of

Thornfield Hall, in the county of , and of Ferndean Manor,

in shire, England, was married to my sister, Bertha

Antoinetta Mason, daughter of Jonas Mason, merchant, and of

Antoinetta his wife, a Creole — at church, Spanish Town,

Jamaica. The record of the marriage will be found in the
register of that church — a copy of it is now in my possession.
Signed, Richard Mason.' "

" That— if a genuine document — may prove I have been mar-
ried, but it does not prove that the woman mentioned therein as
my wife is still living. ' '

" She was living three months ago," returned the lawyer.

" How do you know ?"

" I have a witness to the fact ; whose testimony even you, sir,
will scarcely controvert."

" Produce him — or go to hell."

" I will produce him first — he is on the spot : Mr. Mason, have
the goodness to step forward."

Mr. Rochester, on hearing the name, set his teeth ; he experi-

JANE EYRE. 245

cnced, too, a sort of strong convulsive quiver ; near to him as I
was, I felt the spasmodic movement of fury or despair run
through his frame. The second stranger, who had hitherto
lingered in the background, now drew near; a pale face looked
over the solicitor's shoulder — yes, it was Mason himself. Mr.
Rochester turned and glared at him. His eye, as I have often
said, was a black eye : it had now a tawny — nay, a bloody light
in its gloom ; and his face flushed— olive cheek and hueless fore-
head received a glow, as from spreading, ascending heart fire :
and he stirred, lifted his strong arm — he could have struck
Mason — dashed him on the church floor — shocked by ruthless
blow the breath from his body — but Mason shrank away, and
cried faintly, "Good Godl" Contempt fell cool on Mr.
Rochester — his passion died as if a blight had shrivelled it up :
he only asked, " What have^w to say 7"

An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips.

"The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly. I again
demand, what have you to say ?"

"Sir — sir," — interrupted the clergyman, "do not forget you
are in a sacred place." Then addressing Mason, he inquired
gently, "Are you aware, sir, whether or not this gentleman's
wife is still living?"

" Courage," urged the lawyer — " speak out."

"She is now living at Thornfield Hall," said Mason, in
more articulate tones ; "I saw her there last April. I am her
brother."

"At Thornfield Hall !" ejaculated the clergyman. "Impossi-
ble ! I am an old resident in this neighbourhood, sir, and I never
heard of a Mrs. Rochester at Thornfield Hall."

1 saw a grim smile contort Mr. Rochester's lip, and he
muttered :

" No— by God I I took care that none should hear of it — or
of her under that name."

He mused — for ten minutes he held counsel with himself: he
formed his resolve and announced it :

" Enough— all shall bolt out at once, like the bullet from the
barrel. Wood, close your book, and take off your surplice. John
Green (to the clerk), leave the church ; there will be no wedding
to-day." the man obeyed.

Mr. Rochester continued, hardily and recklessly: " Bigamy is
an ugly word ! — 1 meant however, to be a bigamist : but fate has
out-manoeuvred me; or Providence has checked me — perhaps
the last. I am little better than a devil at this moment ; and, as
my pastor there would tell me, deserve no doubt the sternest
judgments of God— even to the quenchless fire and deathless
worm. Gentlemen, my plan is broken up! — what this lawyer
and his client say is true : I have been married ; and the woman
to whom I was married lives ! You say you never heard of a
Mrs. Rochester at the house up yonder, Wood ; but I dare say
you have many a time inclined your ear to gossip about the

246

JANE EYRE.

mysterious lunatic kept there under watch and ward. Some have
whispered to you that she is my bastard half-sister ; some, my
cast-off mistress ; I now inform you that she is my wife, whom I
married fifteen years ago — Bertha Mason by name ; sister of this
resolute personage, who is now, with his quivering limbs and
white cheeks, showing you what a stout heart men may bear.
Cheer up, Dick! — never fear me! — I'd almost as soon strike a
woman as you. Bertha Mason is mad ; and she came of a mad
family ; idiots and maniacs through three generations ! Her
mother, the Creole, was both a mad woman and a drunkard ! —
as I found out after I had wed the daughter ; for they were silent
on family secrets before. Bertha, like a dutiful child, copied her
parent in both points. I had a charming partner — pure, wise,
modest ; you can fancy I was a happy man. I went through rich
scenes ! Oh ! my experience has been heavenly, if you only
knew it ! But I owe you no further explanation. Briggs, Wood,
Mason — I invite you all to come up to the house and visit Mrs.
Poole's patient, and my wife / You shall see what sort of a being
I was cheated into espousing, and judge whether or not I had a
right to break the compact, and seek sympathy with something
at least human. This girl," he continued, looking at me, " knew
no more than you, Wood, of the disgusting secret ; she thought
all was fair and legal ; and never dreamt she was going to be
entrapped into a feigned union with a defrauded wretch, already
bound to a bad, mad, and embruted partner ! Come, all of you,
follow !"

Still holding me fast, he left the church ; the three gentle-
men came after. At the front door of the hall we found the
carriage.

"Take it back to the coach-house, John," said Mr. Rochester
coolly ; "it will not be wanted to-day."

At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax, Adele, Sophie, Leah, advanced
to meet and greet us.

"To the rightabout — every soul !" cried the master; "away
with your congratulations ! Who wants them ? Not I ! — they
are fifteen years too late !"

He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand,
and still beckoning the gentlemen to follow him ; which they did.
We mounted the first staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded
to the third story, the low, black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's
master key, admitted us to the tapestried room, with its great
bed, and its pictorial cabinet.

" You know this place, Mason," said our guide ; " she bit and
stabbed you here."

He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second
door ; this, too, he opened. In a room without a window, there
burnt a fire, guarded by a high and strong fender, and a lamp
suspended from the ceiling by a chain. Grace Poole bent over
the fire, apparently cooking something in a saucepan. In the
deep shade, at the further end of the room, a figure ran back-

JANE EYRE. 247

wards and forwards. What it was, whether beast or human
being", one could not, at first sight, tell : it grovelled, seemingly,
on all-fours; it snatched and growled like some strange wild
animal : but it was covered with clothing; and a quantity of
dark, grizzled hair, wild as a main, hid its head and face.

"Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole?" said Mr. Rochester. "How
are you ? and how is your charge to-day ?"

"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the
boiling mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not
'rageous."

A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favourable report ;
the clothed hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind feet.

" Ah, sir, she sees you 1" exclaimed Grace : "you'd better not
stay."

"Only a few moments, Grace: you must allow me a few
moments."

" Take care then, sir I for God's sake, take care !"

The maniac bellowed : she parted her shaggy locks from her
visage, and gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognised well that
purple face — those bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced.

" Keep out of the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her
aside: "She has no knife now, I suppose? and I'm on my
guard."

" One never knows what she has, sir; she is so cunning: it is
not in mortal discretion to fathom her craft."

" We had better leave her," whispered Mason.

" Go to the devil 1" was his brother-in-law's recommendation.

" Ware I" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simul-
taneously. Mr. Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic
sprang and grappled his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to
his cheek : they struggled. She was a big woman, in stature
almost equalling her husband, and corpulent besides, she showed
virile force in the contest— more than once she almost throttled
him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with a well-
planted blow ; but he would not strike ; he would only wrestle.
At last he mastered her arms : Grace Poole gave him a cord,
and he pinioned them behind her: with more rope, which was at
hand, he bound her to a chair. The operation was performed
amidst the fiercest yells, and the most convulsive plunges. Mr.
Rochester then turned to the spectators : he looked at them with
a smile both acrid and desolate.

" That is my wife** said he. " Such is the sole conjugal em-
brace I am ever to know— such are the endearments which are to
solace my leisure hours! And this is what I wished to have,"
(laying his hand on my shoulder) ; " this young girl, who stands
so grave and quiet at the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the
gambols of a demon. I wanted her just as a change after that
fierce ragout. Wood and Briggs, look at the difference I Com-
pare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder— this face with
that mask— this form with that bulk ; then judge me, priest of

248 JANE EYRE.

the gospel and man of the law, and remember, with what judg-
ment ye judge ye shall be judged ! Off with you now. I must
shut up my prize."

We all withdrew. Mr. Rochester stayed a moment behind us,
to give some further order to Grace Poole. The solicitor ad-
dressed me as he descended the stair.

"You, madam," said he, "are cleared from all blame: your
uncle will be glad to hear it— if, indeed, he should be still living
— when Mr. Mason returns to Madeira."

" My uncle ! What of him ? Do you know him ?"

" Mr. Mason does: Mr. Eyre has been the Funchal correspond-
ent of his house for some years. When your uncle received your
letter intimating the contemplated union between yourself and
Mr. Rochester, Mr. Mason, who was staying at Madeira to
recruit his health, on his way back to Jamaica, happened to be
with him. Mr. Eyre mentioned the intelligence; for he knew
that my client here was acquainted with a gentleman of the name
of Rochester. Mr. Mason, astonished and distressed as you may
suppose, revealed the real state of matters. Your uncle, I am
sorry to say, is now on a sick-bed ; from which, considering the
nature of the disease — decline — and the stage it has reached, it
is unlikely he will ever rise. He could not then hasten to England
himself, to extricate you from the snare into which you had fallen,
but he implored Mr. Mason to lose no time in taking steps to
prevent the false marriage. He referred him to me for assist-
ance. I used all despatch, and am thankful I was not too late ;
as you, doubtless, must be also. Were I not morally certain
that your uncle will be dead ere you reach Madeira, I would
advise you to accompany Mr. Mason back ; but as it is, I think
you had better remain in England till you can hear further,
either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have we anything else to stay for ?"
he inquired of Mr. Mason.

"No, no — let us be gone," was the anxious reply; and with-
out waiting to take leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit
at the hall door. The clergyman stayed to exchange a few sen-
tences, either of admonition or reproof, with his haughty pari-
shioner : this duty done, he too departed.

I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own
room, to which I had now withdrawn. The house cleared, I
shut myself in, fastened the bolt that none might intrude and
proceeded — not to weep, not to mourn, I was yet too calm for
that, but— mechanically to take off the wedding dress, and
replace it by the stuff gown I had worn yesterday, as I thought,
for the last time. 1 then sat down : I felt weak and tired. I
leaned my arms on a table, and my head dropped on them. And
now I thought : till now I had only heard, seen, moved — followed
up and down where I was led or dragged — watched event
rush on event, disclosure open beyond disclosure; but now I
thought.

The morning had been a quiet morning enough — all except the

JANE EYRE. 249

brief scene with the lunatic : the transaction in the church had
not been noisy; there was no explosion of passion, no loud alter-
cation, no dispute, no defiance or challenge, no tears, no sobs : a
few words had been spoken, a calmly pronounced objection to
the marriage made; some stern, short questions put by Mr.
Rochester ; answers, explanations given, evidence adduced ; an
open admission of the truth had been uttered by my master, then
the living proof had been seen ; the intruders were gone, and all
was over.

I was in my own room as usual— just myself, without obvious
change : nothing had smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me.
And yet where was the Jane Eyre of yesterday ? — where was her
life ? — where were her prospects ?

Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman— almost
a bride— was a cold, solitary girl again : her life was pale ; her
prospects were desolate. A Christmas frost had come at mid-
summer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice
glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses ; on hay-
field and corn-field lay a frozen shroud; lanes which last night
blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden
snow ; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and
fragrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild,
and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway. My hopes were all
dead — struck with a subtle doom, such as, in one night, fell on
all the first-born in the land of Egypt. I looked on my cherished
wishes, yesterday so blooming and glowing ; they lay stark, chill,
livid corpses that could never revive. I looked at my love ; that
feeling which was my master's— which he had created, it shivered
in my heart, like a suffering child in a cold cradle ; sickness and
anguish had seized it ; it could not seek Mr. Rochester's arms —
it could not derive warmth from his breast. Oh, never more
could it turn to him, for faith was blighted— confidence destroyed!
Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had been ; for he was not
what I had thought him. I would not ascribe vice to him ; I
would not say he had betrayed me : but the attribute of stainless
truth was gone from his idea ; and from his presence I must go ;
that I perceived well. When — how— whither, I could not yet
discern : but he himself, I doubted not, would hurry me from
Thornfield. Real affection, it seemed, he could not have for me,
it had been only fitful passion ; that was balked ; he would want
me no more, I should fear even to cross his path now ; my view
must be hateful to him ! Oh, how blind had been my eyes ! How
weak my conduct I

My eyes were covered and closed : eddying darkness seemed
to swim round me, and reflection came in as black and confused
a flow. Self-abandoned, relaxed, and effortless, I seemed to
have laid me down in the dried-up bed of a great river; I heard
a flood loosened in remote mountains, and felt the torrent come :
to rise I had no will, to flee I had no strength. I lay faint;
longing to be dead. One idea only still throbbed life-like within

250 JANE EYRE.

me— a remembrance of God : it begot an unuttered prayer : these
words went wandering up and down in my rayless mind, as
something that should be whispered ; but no energy was found to
express them :

"Be not far from me, for trouble is near; there is none to
help."

It was near: and as I had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert
it — as I had neither joined my hands, nor bent my knees, nor
moved my lips — it came : in full, heavy swing the torrent poured
over me. The whole consciousness of my life lorn, my love lost,
my hope quenched, my faith death-struck, swayed full and
mighty above me in one sullen mass. That bitter hour cannot
be described: in truth, "the waters came into my soul ; I sank
in deep mire : I felt no standing ; I came into deep waters ; the
floods overflowed me."

CHAPTER XXVII.

SOME time in the afternoon I raised my head, and looking
round and seeing the western sun gilding the sign of its
decline on the wall, I asked " What am I to do ?"

But the answer my mind gave — " Leave Thornfield at once " —
was so prompt, so dread, that I stopped my ears : I said, I could
not bear such words now. " That I am not Edward Rochester's
bride is the least part of my woe," I alleged: "that I have
wakened out of most glorious dreams, and found them all void
and vain, is a horror I could bear and master ; but that I must
leave him decidedly, instantly, entirely, is intolerable. I cannot
do it."

But, then, a voice within me averred that I could do it, and
foretold that I should do it. I wrestled with my own resolution :
I wanted to be weak that I might avoid the awful passage of
further suffering I saw laid out for me ; and conscience turned
tyrant, held passion by the throat, told her tauntingly she had
yet but dipped her dainty foot in the slough, and swore that with
that arm of iron, he would thrust her down to unsounded depths
of agony.

"Let me be torn away, then!" I cried. "Let another help
me!"

"No, you shall tear yourself away, none shall help you: you
shall yourself pluck out your right eye : yourself cut off your
right hand : your heart shall be the victim ; and you the priest
to transfix it."

I rose up suddenly, terror-struck at the solitude which so ruth-
less a judge haunted — at the silence which so awful a voice filled.
My head swam as I stood erect : I perceived that I was sicken-
ing from excitement and inanition ; neither meat nor drink had

JANE EYRE. 251

passed my lips that day, for I had taken no breakfast. And,
with a strange pang, I now reflected that, long as I had been
shut up here, no message had been sent to ask how I was, or to
invite me to come clown : not even little Adele had tapped at the
door; nor even Mrs. Fairfax had sought me. " Friends always
forget those whom fortune forsakes," I murmured, as I undrew
the bolt and passed out. I stumbled over an obstacle : my head
was still dizzy, my sight was dim, and my limbs feeble. I could
not soon recover myself. I fell, but not on to the groud : an out-
stretched arm caught me ; I looked up — I was supported by Mr.
Rochester, who sat in a chair across my chamber threshold.

" You come out at last," he said. " Well, I have been waiting
for you long, and listening : yet not one movement have I heard,
nor one sob : five minutes more of that death-like hush, and I
should have forced the lock like a burglar. So, you shun me ? —
you shut yourself up and grieve alone ! I would rather you had
come and upbraided me with vehemence. You are passionate :
I expected a scene of some kind. I was prepared for the hot
rain of tears ; only I wanted them to be shed on my breast : now
a senseless floor has received them, or your drenched handker-
chief. But I err : you have not wept at all ! I see a white cheek
and a faded eye, but no trace of tears. I suppose, then, your
heart has been weeping blood ?

" Well,* Jane ; not a word of reproach ? Nothing bitter —
nothing poignant ? Nothing to cut a feeling or sting a passion ?
You sit quietly where 1 have placed you, and regard me with a
wearv, passive look.

"fane, I never meant to wound you thus. If the man who
had but one little ewe lamb that was dear to him as a daughter,
that ate of his bread and drank of his cup, and lay in his bosom,
had by some mistake slaughtered it at the shambles, he would
not have rued his bloody blunder more than I now rue mine.
Will you ever forgive me r'

Reader 1 — I forgave him at the moment, and on the spot.
There was such a deep remorse in his eye, such true pity in his
tone, such manly energy in his manner : and, besides, there was
such unchangea love in his whole look and mien — I forgave him
all : yet not in words, not outwardly ; only at my heart's core.

"You know I am a scoundrel, Jane ?" ere long he inquired
wistfully— wondering, I suppose, at my continued silence and
tameness : the result rather of weakness than of will.

"Yes, sir."

" Then tell me so roundly and sharply — don't spare me."

" I cannot: I am tired and sick. 1 want some water."

He heaved a sort of shuddering sigh, and taking me in his
arms, carried me downstairs. At first I did not know to what
room he had borne me: all was cloudy to my glazed sight:
presently I felt the reviving warmth of a fire ; for, summer as it
was, I had become icy cold in my chamber He put wine to my
lips ; I tasted it and revived ; then I ate something he offeree*

252 JANE EYRE.

me, and was soon myself. I was in the library — sitting in his
chair — he was quite near. " If I could go out of life now, with-
out too sharp a pang, it would be well for me," I thought ; " then
I should not have to make the effort of cracking my heart-strings
in rending them from among Mr. Rochester's. I must leave
him, it appears. I do not want to leave him— I cannot leave
him."

" How are you now, Jane ?"
" Much better, sir : I shall be well soon."
"Taste the wine again, Jane."

I obeyed him ; then he put the glass on the table, stood before
me, and looked at me attentively. Suddenly he turned away,
with an inarticulate exclamation, full of passionate emotion of
some kind ; he walked fast through the room and came back :
he stooped towards me as if to kiss me ; but I remembered
caresses were now forbidden. I turned my face away, and put
his aside.

" What ! How is this ?" he exclaimed hastily. " Oh, I know !
you won't kiss the husband of Bertha Mason ? You consider my
arms tilled, and my embraces appropriated?"

"At any rate, there is neither room nor claim for me, sir."
" Why, Jane ? I will spare you the trouble of much talking : I
will answer for you — because I have a wife already you would
reply. I guess rightly ?"
"Yes."

" If you think so, you must have a strange opinion of me; you
must regard me as a plotting profligate — a base and low rake
who has been simulating disinterested love in order to draw you
into a snare deliberately laid, and strip you of honour, and rob
you of self-respect. What do you say to that ? I see you can
say nothing: in the first place, you are faint, still, and have
enough to do to draw your breath ; in the second place, you can-
not yet accustom yourself to accuse and revile me ; and, besides,
the floodgates of tears are opened, and they would rush out if
you spoke much ; and you have no desire to expostulate, to
upbraid, to make a scene : you are thinking how to act — talking,
you consider, is of no use. I know you — I am on my guard."

"Sir, I do not wish to act against you," I said; and my
unsteady voice warned me to curtail my sentence.

" Not in your sense of the word, but in mine, you are scheming
to destroy me. You have as good as said that I am a married
man — as a married man you will shun me, keep out of my way :
just now you have refused to kiss me. You intend to make
yourself a complete stranger to me : to live under this roof only
as Adele's governess; if ever I say a friendly word to you; if
ever a friendly feeling inclines you again to me, you will say —
' That man had nearly made me his mistress : I must be ice and
rock to him ;' and ice and rock you will accordingly become."

I cleared and steadied my voice to reply: "All is changed
about me, sir ; I must change too — there is no doubt of that : and

JANE EYRE. 253

to avoid fluctuations of feeling, and continual combats with
recollections and associations, there is only one way — Adele must
have a new governess, sir."

"Oh, Adcle will go to school— I have settled that already;
nor do I mean to torment you with the hideous associations and
recollections of Thornfield Hall— this accursed place — this Achan
— this insolent vault, offering the ghastliness of living death to
the light of the* open sky — this narrow stone hell, with its one
real fiend, worse than a legion of such as we imagine. Jane,
you shall not stay here, nor will I. I was wrong ever to Dring
you to Thornfleld Hall, knowing as I did how it was haunted. I
charged them to conceal from you, before I ever saw you, all
knowledge of the curse of the place ; merely because I feared
Adele never would have a governess to stay if she knew with
what inmate she was housed, and my plans would not permit me
to remove the maniac elsewhere— though I possess an old house,
Ferndean Manor, even more retired and hidden than this, where
I could have lodged her safely enough, had not a scruple about
the unhealthiness of the situation, in the heart of a wood, made
my conscience recoil from the arrangement. Probably those
damp walls would soon have eased me of her charge: but to
each villain his own vice ; and mine is not a tendency to indirect
assassination, even of what I most hate.

" Concealing the mad-woman's neighbourhood from you, how-
ever, was something like covering a child with a cloak, and lay-
ing it down near a upas-tree : that demon's vicinage is poisoned,
and always was. But I'll shut up Thornfield Hail: I'll nail up
the front door, and board the lower windows; I'll give Mrs.
Poole two hundred a year to live here with my wife, as you term
that fearful hag ; Grace will do much for money, and she shall
have her son, the keeper at Grimsby Retreat, to bear her com-
pany and be at hand to give her aid, in the paroxysms, when my
wife is prompted by her familiar to burn people in their beds at
night, to stab them, to bite their flesh from their bones, and so
on "

"Sir," I interrupted him, "you are inexorable for that unfor-
tunate lady: you speak of her with hate— with vindictive
antipathy. It is cruel — she cannot help being mad."

" Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are), you
don't know what you are talking about ; you misjudge me again :
it is not because she is mad I hate her. If you were mad, do you
think I should hate you?"

11 1 do indeed, sir."

" Then you arc mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and
nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every
atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own : in pain and sick-
ness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it
were broken, it would be mv treasure still : if you raved, my arms
should confine you, and not a strait-waistcoat— your grasp, even
in fur}', would have a charm for me : if you flew at me as wildly

254 JANE EYRE.

as that woman did this morning, I should receive you in an
embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not
shrink from you with disgust as I did from her : in your quiet
moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me ; and
I could hang over you with untiring tendernees, though you gave
me no smile in return ; and never weary of gazing into your eyes,
though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me. But why
do I follow that train of ideas ? I was talking of removing you
from Thornfield. All, you know, is prepared for prompt depar-
ture ; to-morrow you shall go, I only ask you to endure one more
night under this roof, Jane ; and then, farewell to its miseries
and terrors for ever ! I have a place to repair to, which will be
a secure sanctuary from hateful reminiscences, from unwelcome
intrusion — even from falsehood and slander."

"And take Adele with you, sir," I interrupted; " she will be
a companion for you."

" What do you mean, Jane? I told you I would send Adele
to school ; and what do I want with a child for a companion ?
and not my own child — a French dancer's bastard. Why do
you importune me about her? I say, why do you assign Adele
to me for a companion ?"

"You spoke of a retirement, sir; and retirement and solitude
are dull : too dull for you."

"Solitude! solitude!" he reiterated, with irritation. "I see I
must comedo an explanation. I don't know what sphynx-like
expression is forming in your countenance. You are to share my
solitude. Do you understand ?"

I shook my head : it required a degree of courage, excited as
he was becoming, even to risk that mute sign of dissent. He
had been walking fast about the room, and he stopped, as if
suddenly rooted to one spot. He looked at me long and hard : I
turned my eyes from him, fixed them on the fire, and tried to
assume and maintain a quiet, collected aspect.

"Now for the hitch in Jane's character," he said at last,
speaking more calmly than from his look I had expected him to
speak. " The reel of silk has run smoothly enough so far ; but I
always knew there would come a knot and a puzzle : here it is.
Now for vexation, and exasperation, and endless trouble! By
God ! I long to exert a fraction of Samson's strength, and break
the entanglement like tow!"

He recommenced his walk : but soon again stopped, and this
time just before me.

"Jane! will you hear reason?" (he stooped and approached
his lips to my ear) "because, if you won't, I'll try violence."
His voice was hoarse ; his look that of a man who is just about
to burst an insufferable bond and plunge headlong into wild
license. I saw that in another moment, and with one impetus of
frenzy more, I should be able to do nothing with him. The
present— the passing second of time— was all I had in which to
control and restrain him : a movement of repulsion, flight, fear,

JANE EYRE. 255

would have sealed my doom— and his. But I was not afraid :
not in the least. I felt an inward power ; a sense of influence,
which supported me. The crisis was perilous ; but not without
its charm : such as the Indian, perhaps, feels when he slips over
the rapid in his canoe. I took hold of his clenched hand;
loosened the contorted fingers: and said to him, soothingly:

".Sit down ; I'll talk to you as long as you like, and hear all
you have to say, whether reasonable or unreasonable."

He sat down : but he did not get leave to speak directly. I
had been struggling with tears for some time : I had taken great
pains to repress them, because I knew he would not like to see
me weep. Now, however, I considered it well to let them flow as
freely and as long as they liked. If the flood annoyed him, so
much the better. So I gave way and cried heartily.

Soon I heard him earnestly entreating me to be composed. I
said I could not while he was in such a passion.

" But I am not angry, Jane : I only love you too well ; and you
had steeled your little pale face with such a resolute, frozen look,
I could not endure it. Hush, now, and wipe your eyes."

His softened voice announced that he was subdued; so I, in
my turn, became calm. Now he made an effort to rest his head
on my shoulder : but I would not permit it. Then he would draw
me to him : no.

•'Jane! Jane!" he said— in such an accent of bitter sadness
it thrilled along every nerve I had; "you don't love me, then ?
It was only my station, and the rank of my wife, that you valued?
Now that you think me disqualified to become your husband, you
recoil from my touch as if 1 were some toad or ape."

These words cut me : yet what could I do or say ? I ought
probably to have done or said nothing : but I was so tortured by
a sense of remorse at thus hurting his feelings, I could not
control the wish to drop balm where I had wounded.

"I<folove you," I said, "more than ever: but I must not
show or indulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must
express it."

"The last time, Jane ! What ! do you think you can live with
me, and see me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always
cold and distant ?"

" No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I sec
there is but one way : but you will be furious if I mention it."

" Oh, mention it I If I storm, you have the art of weeping."

" Mr. Rochester, I must leave you."

" For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth
your hair — which is somewhat dishevelled ; and bathe your face
— which looks feverish ?"

" I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you for
my whole life : I must begin a new existence amongst strange
faces and strange scenes."

"Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness
about parting from me. You mean you must become a part of

256 JANE EYRE.

me. As to the new existence, it is all right : you shall yet be
my wife : I am not married. You shall be Mrs. Rochester —
both virtually and nominally. I shall keep only to you so long as
you and I live. You shall go to a place I have in the south of
France : a whitewashed villa on the shores of the Mediterranean.
There you shall live a happy, and guarded, and most innocent
life. Never fear that I wish to lure you into error — to make you
my mistress. Why do you shake your head ? Jane, you must
be reasonable ; or in truth I shall again become frantic."

His voice and hand quivered : his large nostrils dilated ; his
eye blazed : still I dared to speak.

"Sir, your wife is living: that is a fact acknowledged this
morning by yourself. If I lived with you as you desire, I should
then be your mistress. To say otherwise is sophistical— is
false."

"Jane, I am not a gentle-tempered man, you forget that: I
am not long-enduring; I am not cool and dispassionate. Out of
pity to me and yourself, put your finger on my pulse, feel how it
throbs, and — beware!"

He bared his wrist, and offered it to me : the blood was for-
saking his cheek and lips, they were growing livid ; I was dis-
tressed on all hands. To agitate him thus deeply, by a resist-
ance he so abhorred, was cruel : to yield was out of the question.
I did what human beings do instinctively when they are driven to
utter extremity — looked for aid to one higher than man : the
words " God help me !" burst involuntarily from my lips.

"I am a fool!" cried Mr. Rochester, suddenly. "I keep
telling her I am not married, and do not explain to her why. I
forgot she knows nothing of the character of that woman, or of
the circumstances attending my infernal union with her. Oh, I
am certain Jane will agree with me in opinion when she knows
all that I know ! Just put your hand in mine, Janet, that I may
have the evidence of touch as well as sight, to prove you are near
me ; and I will in a few words show you the real state of the
case. Can you listen to me ?"

"Yes, sir; for hours if you will."

" I ask only minutes. Jane, did you ever hear, or know that I
was not the eldest son of my house : that I had once a brother
older than I?"

" I remember Mrs. Fairfax told me so once."

"And did you ever hear that my father was an avaricious,
grasping man ?"

" I have understood something to that effect."

"Well, Jane, being so, it was his resolution to keep the
property together; he could not bear the idea of dividing his
estate and leaving me a fair portion : all, he resolved, should go
to my brother Rowland. Yet as little could he endure that a
son of his should be a poor man. I must be provided for by a
wealthy marriage. He sought me a partner betimes. Mr.
Mason, a West India planter and merchant, was his old

JANE EYRE. 257

acquaintance. He was certain his possessions were real and
vast : he made inquiries. Mr. Mason, he found, had a son and
daughter; and he learned from him that he could and would
give the latter a fortune of thirty thousand pounds : that sufficed.
When I left college, I was sent out to Jamaica, to espouse a
bride already courted for me. My father' said nothing about her
money; but he told me Miss Mason was the boast of Spanish
Town for her beauty : and this was no lie. I found her a fine
woman, in the style of Blanche Ingram ; tall, dark, and
majestic. Her family wished to secure me because I was of a
good race ; and so did she. They showed her to me in parties,
splendidly dressed. I seldom saw her alone, and had very little
private conversation with her. She flattered me, and lavishly
displayed for my pleasure her charms and accomplishments.
All the men in her circle seemed to admire her and envy me.
I was dazzled, stimulated : my senses were excited ; and being
ignorant, raw, and inexperienced, I thought I loved her. There
is no folly so besotted that the idiotic rivalries of society, the
prurience, the rashness, the blindness of youth, will not hurry a
man to its commission. Her relatives encouraged me; com-
petitors piqued me ; she allured me : a marriage was achieved
almost before I knew where I was. Oh, I have no respect for
myself when I think of that act I — an agony of inward contempt
masters me. I never loved, I never esteemed, I did not even
know her. I was not sure of the existence of one virtue in her
nature: I had marked neither modesty, nor benevolence, nor
candour, nor refinement in her mind or manners, and I married
her : ^toss, grovelling, mole-eyed blockhead that I was 1 With
less sin I might have — but let me remember to whom I am
speaking.

" My bride's mother I had never seen : I understood she was
dead. The honeymoon over, I learned my mistake; she was
only mad, and shut up in a lunatic asylum. There was a
younger brother, too ; a complete dumb idiot. The elder one,
whom you have seen (and whom I cannot hate, whilst I abhor
all his kindred, because he has some grains of affection in his
feeble mind; shown in the continued interest he takes in his
wretched sister and also in a dog-like attachment he once bore
me,} will probably be in the same state one day. My father and
my brother Rowland knew all this ; but they thought only of the
thirty thousand pounds, and joined in the plot against me.

" These were vile discovenes ; but except for the treachery of
concealment, I should have made them no subject of reproach to
my wife : even when I found her nature wholly alien to mine ;
her tastes obnoxious to me; her cast of mind common, low,
narrow, and singularly incapable of being led to anything higher,
expanded to anything larger—when I found that I could not pass
a single evening nor even a single hour of the day with her in
comfort; that kindly conversation could not be sustained
between us, because whatever topic I started immediately

Q

258 JANE EYRE.

received from her a turn at once coarse and trite, perverse and
imbecile— when I perceived that I should never have a quiet or
settled household, because no servant would bear the continued
outbreaks of her violent and unreasonable temper, or the vexa-
tions of her absurd, contradictory, exacting orders — even then I
restrained myself; I eschewed upbraiding, I curtailed remon-
strance : I tried to devour my repentance and disgust in secret ;
I repressed the deep antipathy I felt.

"Jane, I will not trouble you with abominable details: some
strong words shall express what I have to say. I lived with
that woman upstairs four years, and before that time she tried
me indeed : her character ripened and developed with frightful
rapidity ; her vices sprang up fast and rank ; they were so
strong, only cruelty could check them ; and I would not use
cruelty. What a pigmy intellect she had — and what giant pro-
pensities ! How fearful were the curses those propensities
entailed on me! Bertha Mason — the true daughter of an
infamous mother — dragged me through all the hideous and
degrading agonies which must attend a man bound to a wife at
once intemperate and unchaste.

" My brother in the interval was dead ; and at the end of the
four years my father died too. I was rich enough now — yet poor
to hideous indigence : a nature the most gross, impure, depraved
I ever saw, was associated with mine, and called by the law and
by society a part of me. And I could not rid myself of it by
any legal proceedings : for the doctors now discovered that my
wife was mad — her excesses had prematurely developed the
germs of insanity : Jane, you don't like my narrative ; you look
almost sick — shall I defer the rest to another day ?"

" No, sir, finish it now : I pity you — I do earnestly pity you."

" Pity, Jane, from some people is a noxious and insulting sort
of tribute, which one is justified in hurling back in the teeth of
those who offer it ; but that is the sort of pity native to callous,
selfish hearts : it is a hybrid, egotistical pain at hearing of woes,
crossed with ignorant contempt for those who have endured
them. But that is not your pity, Jane ; it is not the feeling of
which your whole face is full at this moment— with which your
eyes are now almost overflowing — with which your heart is
heaving— with which your hand is trembling in mine. Your
pity, my darling, is the suffering mother of love; its anguish
is the very natal pang of the divine passion. I accept it, Jane ;
let the daughter have free advent — my arms wait to receive
her."

" Now, sir, proceed: what did you do when you found she was
mad?"

"Jane, I approached the verge of despair: a remnant of self-
respect was all that intervened between me and the gulf. In the
eyes of the world I was doubtless covered with grimy dishonour :
but I resolved to be clean in my own sight, and to the last I
repudiated the contamination of her crimes, and wrenched myself

JANE EYRE. 259

from connection with her mental defects. Still society associated
my name and person with hers ; I yet saw her and heard her
daily; something of her breath (faugh !) mixed with the air I
breathed ; and, besides, I remembered I had once been her hus-
band—that recollection was then, and is now, inexpressibly
odious to me ; moreover, I knew that while she lived I could
never be the husband of another and better wife ; and, though
five years my senior (her family and her father had lied to me
even in the particular of her age,) she was likely to live as long
as I, being as robust in frame as she was infirm in mind. Thus,
at the age of twenty-six, I was hopeless.

" One night 1 had been awakened by her yells (since the medi-
cal men had pronounced her mad, she had of course been shut
up)— it was a fiery West Indian night; one of the description
that frequently precede the hurricanes of those climates ; being
unable to sleep in bed, I got up and opened the window. The
air was like sulphur-steams — I could find no refreshment any-
where. Mosquitoes came buzzing in and hummed sullenly round
the room ; the sea, which I could hear from thence, rumbled
dull like an earthquake — black clouds were casting up over it ;
the moon was setting in the waves, broad and red, like a hot
cannon-ball — she threw her last bloody glance over a world
auivering with the ferment of tempest. I was physically in-
fluenced by the atmosphere and scene, and my ears were filled
with the curses the maniac still shrieked out; wherein she
momentarily mingled my name with such a tone of demon-hate,
with such language ! — no professed harlot ever had a fouler
vocabulary than she : though two rooms off, I heard every word,
the thin partitions of the West India house opposing but slight
obstruction to her wolfish cries.

" 'This life,' said I, at last, ' is hell ! this is the air, those are
the sounds of the bottomless pit ! I have a right to deliver my-
self from it if I can. The sufferings of this mortal state will leave
me with the heavy flesh that now cumbers my soul. Of the
fanatic's burning eternity I have no fear: there is not a future
state worse than this present one— let me break away and go
home to God !'

"I said this whilst I knelt down at, and unlocked a trunk
which contained a brace of loaded pistols: I meant to shoot
myself. I only entertained the intention for a moment ; for, not
being insane, the crisis of exquisite and unalloyed despair which
had originated the wish and design of self-destruction was past
in a second.

"A wind fresh from Europe blew over the ocean and rushed
through the open casement: the storm broke, streamed, thun-
dered, blazed, and the air grew pure. I then framed and fixed a
resolution. While I walked under the dripping orange-trees of
my wet garden, and amongst its drenchea pomegranates and
pine-apples, and while the refulgent dawn of the tropics kindled
round me ; I reasoned thus, Jane : and now listen ; for it was

260 JANE EYRE.

true Wisdom that consoled me in that hour, and showed me the
right path to follow.

"The sweet wind from Europe was still whispering in the
refreshed leaves, and the Atlantic was thundering in glorious
liberty; my heart, dried up and scorched for a long time,
swelled to the tone, and filled with living blood — my being longed
for renewal— my soul thirsted for a pure draught. I saw Hope
revive — and felt Regeneration possible. From a flowery arch at
the bottom of my garden I gazed over the sea, bluer than the
sky : the old world was beyond ; clear prospects opened thus :

" ' Go,' said Hope, ' and live again in Europe : there it is not
known what a sullied name you bear, nor what a filthy burden is
bound to you. You may take the maniac with you to England ;
confine her with due attendance and precautions at Thornfield :
then travel yourself to what clime you will, and form what new
tie you like. That woman, who has so long abused your long-
suffering ; so sullied your name ; so outraged your honour ; so
blighted your youth, is not your wife ; nor are you her husband.
See that she is cared for as her condition demands, and you have
done all that God and Humanity require of you. Let her identity,
her connection with yourself, be buried in oblivion : you are
bound to impart them to no living being. Place her in safety
and comfort: shelter her degradation with secrecy, and leave
her.'

" I acted precisely on this suggestion. My father and brother
had not made my marriage known to their acquaintance ;
because in the very first letter I wrote to apprise them of the
union, having already begun to experience extreme disgust of its
consequences ; and from the family character and constitution,
seeing a hideous future opening to me, I added an urgent charge
to keep it secret : and very soon the infamous conduct of the wife
my father had selected for me was such as to make him blush to
own her as his daughter-in-law. Far from desiring to publish
the connection, he became as anxious to conceal it as myself.

"To England, then, I conveyed her; a fearful voyage I had
with such a monster in the vessel. Glad was I when I at last
got her to Thornfield, and saw her safely lodged in that third
story room, of whose secret inner cabinet she has now for ten
years made a wild beast's den — a goblin's cell. I had some
trouble in finding an attendant for her : as it was necessary to
select one on whose fidelity dependence could be placed ; for her
ravings would inevitably betray my secret : besides, she had lucid
intervals of days — sometimes weeks— which she filled up with
abuse of me. At last I hired Grace Poole, from the Grimsby
Retreat. She and the surgeon, Carter (who dressed Mason's
wounds that night he was stabbed and worried), are the only two
I have ever admitted to my confidence. Mrs. Fairfax may
indeed have suspected something ; but she could have gained no
precise knowledge as to facts. Grace has, on the whole, proved
a good keeper ; though, owing partly to a fault of her own, of

JANE EYRE. 261

which it appears nothing can cure her, and which is incident to
her harassing profession, her vigilance has been more than once
lulled and baffled. The lunatic is both cunning and malignant ;
she has never failed to take advantage of her guardian's tem-
porary lapses ; once to secrete the knife with which she stabbed
her brother, and twice to possess herself of the key of her cell,
and issue therefrom in the night-time. On the first of the occa-
sions she perpetrated the attempt to burn me in my bed ; on the
second she paid that ghastly visit to you. I thank Providence,
who watched over you, that she then spent her fury on your wed-
ding apparel ; which perhaps brought back vague reminiscences
of her own bridal days : but on what might have happened I can-
not endure to reflect. When I think of the tiling which flew at
my throat this morning, hanging its black and scarlet visage
over the nest of my dove, my blood curdles "

" And what, sir," I asked, while he paused, " did you do when
you had settled her here ? Where did you go ?"

" What did I do, Jane ? I transformed myself into a Will-o'-
the-wisp. Where did I £0 ? I pursued wanderings as wild as
those of the March-spirit. I sought the Continent, and went
devious through all its lands. My fixed desire was to seek and
find a good and intelligent woman, whom I could love : a contrast
to the fury I left at Thornfield "

" But you could not marry, sir."

" I had determined, and was convinced that I could and ou^ht.
It was not my original intention to deceive, as I have deceived
you. 1 meant to tell my tale plainly, and make my proposals
openly: and it appeared to me so absolutely rational that I
should be considered free to love and be loved, I never doubted
some woman might be found willing and able to understand my
case and accept me, in spite of the curse with which I was
burdened."

"Well, sir?"

" Y£&enjou are inquisitive* J ane,you^aJ wa y s make. me smile.
Yoijjopcaypur eyes likeaiLea^er bird, and make every now and
Uiea.alr^tlesajQiov«m«at;- J a&-if answers in speech did not^flow
f ast enou gh foL-you^and Lyou w antecLtojead the tablet^ofjene's
heart. But before I go on, tell me what you mean by your
' Wflj, sir.?' It is a small phrase very frequent with you ; and
wliich many a time has drawn me on and on through interminable
talk : I don't very well know why."

"I mean— What next ? How did you proceed? What came
of such an event?"

" Precisely : and what do you wish to know now ?"

" Whether you found any one you liked : whether you asked
her to marry you ; and what she said."

" I can tell you whether I found any one I liked, and whether
I asked her to marry me : but what she said is yet to be recorded
in the book of Fate. For ten long years I roved about, living
first in one capital, then another: sometimes in St. Petersburg;

262 JANE EYRE.

oftener in Paris ; occasionally in Rome, Naples, and Florence.
Provided with plenty of money, and the passport of an old name,
I could choose my own society : no circles were closed against
me. I sought my ideal of a woman amongst English ladies,
French countesses, Italian signoras, and German grafinnen. I
could not find her. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, I thought
I caught a glance, heard a tone, beheld a form, which announced
the realization of my dream : but I was presently undeceived.
You are not to suppose that I desired perfection, either of mind
or person. I longed only for what suited me — for the antipodes
of the Creole : and I longed vainly. Amongst them all I found
not one, whom, had I been ever so free, I — warned as I was of
the risks, the horrors, the loathings of incongruous unions —
woujd have asked to marry me. Disappointment made me reck-
less. I tried dissipation — never debauchery: that I hated and
hate. That was my Indian Messalina's attribute : rooted disgust
at it and her restrained me much, even in pleasure. Any enjoy-
ment that bordered on riot seemed to approach me to her and
her vices, and I eschewed it.

"Yet I could not live alone; so I tried the companionship of
mistresses. The first I chose was Celine Varens — another of
those steps which make a man spurn himself when he recalls
them. You already know what she was, and how my liaison with
her terminated. She had two successors : an Italian, Giacinta,
and a German, Clara ; both considered singularly handsome.
What was their beauty to me in a few weeks ? Giacinta was
unprincipled and violent ; I tired of her in three months. Clara
was honest and quiet ; but heavy, mindless, unimpressionable :
not one whit to my taste. I was glad to give her a sufficient sum
to set her up in a good line of business, and so get decently rid
of her. But, Jane, I see by your face you are not forming a very
favourable opinion of me just now. You think me an unfeeling,
loose-principled rake : don't you ?"

"I don't like you so well as I have done sometimes, indeed,
sir. Did it not seem to you in the least wrong to live in that
way : first with one mistress and then another ? You talk of it
as a mere matter of course."

"It was with me; and I did not like it. It was a grovelling-
fashion of existence : I should never like to return to it. Hiring
a mistress is the next worst thing to buying a slave : both are
often by nature, and always by position, inferior: and to live
familiarly with inferiors is degrading, 1 now hate the recollection
of the time I passed with Celine, Giacinta, and Clara."

I felt the truth of these words ; and I drew from them the cer-
tain inference, that if I were so far to forget myself and all the
teaching that had ever been instilled into me, as — under any
pretext — with any justification — through any temptation — to
become the successor of these poor girls, he would one day
regard me with the same feeling which now in his mind
desecrated their memory. I did not give utterance to this con-

JANE EYRE. 263

viction : it was enough to feel it. I impressed it on my heart,
that it might remain there to serve me as aid in the time of trial.

" Now, Jane, why don't you say ' Well, sir ?' I have not done.
You are looking grave. You disapprove of me still, I see. But
let me come to the point. Last January, rid of all mistresses —
in a harsh, bitter frame of mind, the result of a useless, roving,
lonely life—corroded with disappointment, sourly disposed against
all men, and especially against all womankind (for I began to
regard the notion of an intellectual, faithful, loving woman as a
dream), recalled by business, I came back to England.

"On a frosty winter afternoon, I rode in sight of Thornfield
Hall. Abhorred spot ! I expected no peace — no pleasure there.
On a stile in Hay Lane I saw a quiet little figure sitting by itself.
I passed it as negligently as I did the pollard willow opposite
to it: I had no presentiment of what it would be to me; no
inward warning that the arbitress of my life — my genius for good
or evil — waited there in humble guise. I did not know it, even
when, on the occasion of Mesrour's accident, it came up and
gravely offered me help. Childish and slender creature 1 it
seemed as if a linnet had hopped to my foot and proposed to bear
me on its tiny wing. I was surly ; but the thing would not go :
it stood by me with strange perseverance, and looked and spoke
with a sort of authority. I must be aided, and by that hand :
and aided I was.

"When once I had pressed the frail shoulder, something new
— a fresh sap and sense—stole into my frame. It was well I had
learnt that this elf must return to me— that it belonged to my
house down below — or I could not have felt it pass away from
under my hand, and seen it vanish behind the dim hedge, with-
out singular regret. I heard you come home that night, Jane:
though probably you were not aware that I thought of you.
The next day I observed you — myself unseen — for half an hour,
while you played with Adele in the gallery. It was a snowy day,
I recollect, and you could not go out of doors. I was in my
room ; the door was ajar: I could both listen and watch. Adele
claimed your outward attention for a while ; yet I fancied your
thoughts were elsewhere: but you talked to her and amused
her a long time. When at last she left you, you lapsed at once
into deep reverie : you betook yourself slowly to pace the
gallery. Now and then, in passing a casement, you glanced
out at the thick-falling snow ; you listened to the sobbing wind,
and ag^ain you paced gently on and dreamed. I think those
day visions were not dark : there was a pleasurable illumination
in your eye occasionally, a soft excitement in your aspect, which
told of no bitter, bilious, hypochondriac brooding: your look
revealed rather the sweet musings of youth, when its spirit fol-
lows on willing wings the flight of Hope, up and on to an ideal
heaven. The voice of Mrs. Fairfax, speaking to a servant in
the hall, wakened you: and how curiously ^ou smiled to and at
yourself, Janet ! There was much sense 111 your smile : it was

264 JANE EYRE.

very shrewd, and seemed to make light of your own abstraction.
It seemed to say — ' My fine visions are all very well, but I must
not forget they are absolutely unreal. I have a rosy sky, and a
green flowery Eden in my brain; but without, I am perfectly
aware, lies at my feet a rough tract to travel, and around me
gather black tempests to encounter.' You ran downstairs and
demanded of Mrs. Fairfax some occupation : the weekly house
accounts to make up, or something of that sort, I think it was.
I was vexed with you for getting out of my sight.

" Impatiently I waited for evening, when I might summon you
to my presence. An unusual — to me — a perfectly new character
I suspected was yours : I desired to search it deeper, and know
it better. You entered the room with a look and air at once
shy and independent : you were quaintly dressed — much as you
are now. I made you talk : ere long I found you full of strange
contrasts. Your garb and manner were restricted by rule ; your
air was often diffident, and altogether that of one refined by
nature, but absolutely unused to society, and a good deal afraid
of making herself disadvantageous^ conspicuous by some
solecism or blunder ; yet when addressed, you lifted a keen, a
daring, and a glowing eye to your interlocutor's face : there
was penetration and power in each glance you gave : when
plied by close questions, you found ready and round answers.
Very soon, you seemed to get used to me : I believe you felt
the existence of sympathy between you and your grim and cross
master, Jane ; for it was astonishing to see how quickly a cer-
tain pleasant ease tranquillised your manner ; snarl as I would,
you showed no surprise, fear, annoyance, or displeasure at my
moroseness ; you watched me, and now and then smiled at me
with a simple yet sagacious grace I cannot describe. I was at
once content and stimulated with what I saw; I liked what I
had seen, and wished to see more. Yet, for a long time, I
treated you distantly, and sought your company rarely. I was
an intellectual epicure, and wished to prolong the gratification
of making this novel and piquant acquaintance : besides, I was
for a while troubled with a haunting fear that if I handled the
flower freely its bloom would fade — the sweet charm of fresh-
ness would leave it. I did not then know that it was no tran-
sitory blossom ; but rather the radiant resemblance of one, cut
in an indestructible gem. Moreover, I wished to see whether
you would seek me if I shunned you — but you did not : you kept
in the schoolroom as still as your own desk and easel ; if by
chance I met you, you passed me as soon, and with as little
token of recognition, as was consistent with respect. Your
habitual expression in those days, Jane, was a thoughtful look :
not despondent, for you were not sickly ; but not buoyant, for you
had little hope, and no actual pleasure. I wondered what you
thought of me ; to find this out, I resumed my notice of you.
There was something glad in your glance, and genial in your
manner, when you conversed : I saw you had a social heart ; it

JANE EYRE. 265

was the silent schoolroom — it was the tedium of your life — that
made you mournful. I permitted myself the delight of being
kind to you : kindness stirred emotion soon : your face became
soft in expression, your tones gentle; I liked my name pro-
nounced by your lips in a grateful happy accent. I usca to
enjoy a chance meeting with you, Jane, at this time: there
was a curious hesitation in your manner: you glanced at me
with a slight trouble — a hovering doubt: you did not know
what my caprice might be — whether I was going to play the
master and be stern, or the friend and be benignant. I was
now too fond of you often to stimulate the first whim ; and when
I stretched my hand out cordially, such bloom and light and bliss
rose to your young, wistfal features, I had much ado often to
avoid straining you then and there to my heart."

" Don't talk any more of those days sir," I interrupted, fur-
tively dashing away some tears from my eyes ; his language was
torture to me ; for I knew what I must do— and do soon— and all
these reminiscences, and these revelations of his feelings, only
made my work more difficult.

"No, Jane," he returned: "what necessity is there to dwell
on the Past, when the Present is so much surer — the Future so
much brighter?"

I shuddered to hear the infatuated assertion.

"You see now how the case stands— do you not?" he con-
tinued. "After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable
misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found
what I can truly love— I have found you. You are my sympathy
— my better self — my good angel — I am bound to you with a
strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely : a fervent,
a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you,
draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence
about you— and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and
me in one.

"It was because I felt and knew this, that I resolved to marry
you. To tell me that I had already a wife is empty mockery ;
you know now that I had but a hideous demon. I was wrong
to attempt to deceive you ; but I feared a stubbornness in your
character. I feared early instilled prejudice : I wanted to have
you safe before hazarding confidences. This was cowardly : I
should have appealed to your nobleness and magnanimity at
first, as I do now— opened to you plainly my life of agony— <les-
cribed to you my hunger and thirst after a higher and worthier
existence — shown to you, not my resolution (that word is weak,)
but my resistless bent to love faithfully and well, where 1 am
faithfully and well loved in return. Then I should have asked
you to accept my pledge of fidelity, and to give me yours : Jane
— give it me now."

A pause.

" Why are you silent, Jane ?"

I was experiencing an ordeal : a hand of fiery iron grasped my

266 JANE EYRE.

vitals. Terrible moment : full of struggle, blackness, burning !
Not a human being that ever lived could wish to be loved better
than I was loved ; and him who thus loved me I absolutely wor-
shipped : and I must renounce love and idol. One drear word
comprised my intolerable duty — " Depart !"

" Jane, you understand what I want of you ? Just this promise
— ' 1 will be yours, Mr. Rochester.' "

" Mr. Rochester, I will not be yours."

Another silence.

"Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness that broke me
down with grief, and turned me stone cold with ominous terror —
for this still voice was the pant of a lion rising — "Jane, do you
mean to go one way in the world, and to let me go another."

"I do."

"Jane " (bending towards and embracing me,) " do you mean
it now ?"

"1 do."

" And now ?" softly kissing my forehead and cheek.

"1 do" — extricating myself from restraint rapidly and com-
pletely.

"Oh, Jane, this is bitter! This — this is wicked. It would
not be wicked to love me."

" It would to obey you."

A wild look raised his brows —crossed his features: he rose;
but he forebore yet. I laid my hand on the back of a chair for
support : I shook, I feared — but I resolved.

" One instant, Jane. Give one glance to my horrible life when
you are gone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What
then is left ? For a wife I have but the maniac upstairs : as well
might you refer me to some corpse in yonder churchyard. What
shall I do, Jane ? Where turn for a companion, and for some
hope?"

" Do as I do : trust in God and yourself. Believe in heaven.
Hope to meet again there."

" Then you will not yield ?"

"No."

"Then you condemn me to live wretched, and to die
accursed ?" His voice rose.

" I advise you to live sinless ; and I wish you to die tranquil."

"Then you snatch love and innocence from me? You fling
me back on lust for a passion — vice for an occupation ?"

"Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to you than I
grasp at it for myself. We were born to strive and endure— you
as well as I : do so. You will forget me before 1 forget you."

" You make me a liar by such language : you sully my honour.
I declared I could not change : you tell me to my face I shall
change soon. And what a distortion in your judgment, what a
perversity in your ideas, is proved by your conduct ! Is it better
to drive a fellow- creature to despair than to transgress a mere
human law — no man being injured by the breach ? for you have

JANE EYRE. 267

neither relatives nor acquaintances whom you need fear to offend
by living with me."

This was true : and while he spoke my very conscience and
reason turned traitors against me, and charged me with crime in
resisting him. They spoke almost as loud as Feeling : and that
clamoured wildly. "Oh, comply!" it said. "Think of his
misery ; think of his danger — look at his state when left alone ;
remember his headlong nature ; consider the recklessness follow-
ing on despair— soothe him ; save him ; love him ; tell him you
love him and will be his. Who in the world cares for you f or
who will be injured by what you do ?"

Still indomitable was the reply — " /care for myself. The moie
solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the
more I will respect myself. I will keep the law given by God ;.
sanctioned by man. I will hold to the principles received by
me when I was sane, and not mad — as I am now. Laws and
principles are not for the times when there is no temptation :
they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in
mutiny against their rigour ; stringent are they ; inviolate they
shall be. If at my individual convenience I might bieak them,
what would be their worth ? They have a worth — so I have
always believed ; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I
am insane — quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my
heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived
opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to
stand by: there I plant my foot."

I did. Mr. Rochester, reading my countenance, saw I had
done so. His fury was wrought to the highest : he must yield to
it for a moment, whatever followed; he crossed the floor and
seized my arm, and grasped my waist. He seemed to devour me
with his flaming glance: physically, I felt, at the moment,
powerless as stubble exposed to the draught and £lo\v of a fur-
nace — mentally, I still possessed my soul, and with it the cer-
tainty of ultimate safety. The soul, fortunately, has an inter-
preter—often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter — in
the eye. My eye rose to his ; and while I looked in his fierce
face, I gave an involuntary sigh : his gripe was painful, and my
over-tasked strength almost exhausted.

"Never," said he, as he ground his teeth, "never was any-
thing at once so frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels
in my hand!" (And he shook me with the force of his hold. J
" 1 could bend her with my finger and thumb: and what good
would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushed her ? Consider
that eye : consider the resolute, wild, free thing looking out of it,
defying me, with more than courage — with a stern triumph.
Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it — the savage,
beautiful creature ! If I tear, if I rend the slight prison, my
outrage will only let the captive loose. Conquerer I might be
of the house ; but the inmate would escape to heaven before I
could call myself possessor of its clay dwelling-place. And it is

268 JANE EYRE.

you, spirit — with will and energy, and virtue and purity— that I
want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself, you could
come with soft flight and nestle against my heart, if you would :
seized against your will you will elude the grasp like an essence
— you will vanish ere I inhale your fragrance. Oh ! come, Jane,
come !"

"As he said this, he released me from his clutch, and only
looked at me. The look was far worse to resist than the frantic
strain : only an idiot, however, would have succumbed now. I
had dared and baffled his fury; I must elude his sorrow. I
retired to the door.

" You are going, Jane 7"

"I am going, sir."

" You are leaving me ?"

"Yes."

"You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my
rescuer ? My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all
nothing to you?"

What unutterable pathos was in his voice ! How hard it was
to reiterate firmly, " I am going."

"Jane!"

"Mr. Rochester!"

" Withdraw, then — I consent — but remember, you leave me
here in anguish. Go up to your own room ; think over all I have
said, and, Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings — think of me."

He turned away ; he threw himself on his face on the sofa.
" Oh, Jane ! my hope — my love — my life !" broke in anguish from
his lips. Then came a deep, strong sob.

I had already gained the door : but, reader, I walked back —
walked back as determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down
by him ; I turned his face from the cushion to me ; I kissed his
cheek ; I smoothed his hair with my hand.

" God bless you, my dear master!" I said. "God keep you
from harm and wrong — direct you, solace you — reward you well
for your past kindness to me."

"Little Jane's love would have been my best reward," he
answered: "without it, my heart is broken. But Jane will give
me her love: yes — nobly, generously."

Up the blood rushed to his face ; forth flashed the fire from his
eyes ; erect he sprang ; he held his arms out ; but I evaded the
embrace, and at once quitted the room.

" Farewell !" was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair
added, " Farewell, for ever!"

That night I never thought to sleep ; but a slumber fell on me
as soon as I lay down in bed. I was transported in thought to
the scenes of childhood: I dreamt I lay in the red-room at
Gateshead; that the night was dark and my mind impressed
with strange fears. The light that long ago had struck me into

JANE EYRE. 269

syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glidingly to mount the
wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured
ceiling. I lifted up my head to look : the roof resolved to clouds,
high and dim ; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to
vapours she is about to sever. I watched her come — watched
with the strangest anticipation ; as though some word of doom
were to be written on her disc. She broke forth as never moon
yet burst from cloud : a hand first penetrated the sable folds and
waved them away ; then, not a moon, but a white human form
shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. It

fazed and gazed on me. It spoke to my spirit : immeasurably
istant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart:

" My daughter, flee temptation I"

"Mother, I will."

So I answered after I had waked from the trance-like dream.
It was yet night, but July nights are short : soon after midnight,
dawn comes. "It cannot be too early to commence the task I
have to fulfil," thought I. I rose: I was dressed; for I had
taken off nothing but my shoes. I knew where to find in my
drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. In seeking these articles,
I encountered the beads of a pearl necklace Mr. Rochester had
forced me to accept a few days ago. I left that; it was not
mine : it was the visionary bride's, who had melted in air. The
other articles I made up in a parcel; my purse, containing
twenty shillings (it was all I had), I put in my pocket : I tied on
my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my
slippers, which I would not put on yet, and stole from my room.

" Farewell, kind Mrs. Fairfax I" I whispered, as I glided past
her door. "Farewell, my darling Adelel" I said, as I glanced
towards the nursery. No thought could be admitted of entering
to embrace her. I had to deceive a fine ear : for ought I knew,
it might now be listening.

I would have got past Mr. Rochester's chamber without a
pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that
threshhold, my foot was forced to stop also. No sleep was there :
the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall ; and again
and again he sighed while I listened. There was a heaven — a
temporary heaven— in this room for me, if I chose : I had but to
go in and to say :

" Mr Rochester, I will love you, and live with you through life
till death," and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. I
thought of this.

That kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with
impatience for day. He would send for me in the morning ; I
should be gone. He would have me sought for: vainly. He
would feel himself forsaken ; his love rejected : he would suffer ;
perhaps grow desperate. I thought of this too. My hand moved
towards the lock : I caught it back, and glided on.

Drearily I wound my way downstairs : I knew what I had to
do, and 1 ui J it mechanically. I sought the key of the side-door

270 JANE EYRE.

in the kitchen ; I sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather ; I
oiled the key and the lock. I got some water, I got some bread :
for perhaps I should have to walk far ; and my strength, sorely
shaken of late, must not break down. All this I did without one
sound. I opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. Dim dawn
glimmered in the yard. The great gates were closed and locked ;
but a wicket in one of them was only latched. Through that I
departed : it, too, I shut ; and now I was out of Thornfield.

A mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the
contrary direction to Millcote ; a road I had never travelled, but
often noticed, and wondered where it led ; thither I bent my
steps. No reflection was to be allowed now : not one glance was
to be cast back ; not even one forward. Not one thought
was to be given either to the past or the future. The first was
a page so heavenly sweet — so deadly sad — that to read one line
of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy.
The last was an awful blank : something like the world when the
deluge was gone by.

I skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes, till after sunrise. I
believe it was a lovely summer morning ; I know my shoes,
which I had put on when I left the house, were soon wet with
dew. But I looked neither to rising sun nor smiling sky, nor
wakening nature. He who is taken out to pass through a fair
scene to the scaffold thinks not of the flowers that smile on his
road, but of the block and axe-edge ; of the disseverment of
bone and vein ; of the grave gaping at the end : and I thought
of drear flight and homeless wandering — and, oh ! with agony I
thought of what I left. I could not help it. I thought of him
now — in his room — watching the sunrise ; hoping I should soon
come to say I would stay with him, and be his. I longed to be
his ; I panted to return ; it was not too late ; I could yet spare
him the bitter pang of bereavement. As yet my flight, I was
sure, was undiscovered. I could go back and be his comforter —
his pride ; his redeemer from misery ; perhaps from ruin. Oh,
that fear of his self-abandonment — far worse than my abandon-
ment — how it goaded me ! It was a barbed arrow-head in my
breast; it tore me when I tried to extract it; it sickened me
when remembrance thrust it further in. Birds began singing in
brake and copse : birds were faithful to their mates ; birds were
emblems of love. What was I ? In the midst of my pain of
heart, and frantic effort of principle, I abhorred myself. I had
no solace from self-approbation : none even from self-respect. I
had injured — wounded — left my master. I was hateful in my
own eyes. Still I could not turn, nor retrace one step. God
must have led me on. As to my own will or conscience,
impassioned grief had trampled one and stifled the other. I was
weeping wildly as I walked along my solitary way : fast, fast I
went like one delirious. A weakness, beginning inwardly,
extending to the limbs, seized me, and I fell : 1 lay on the ground
some minutes, pressing my face to the wet turf. I had some fear

JANE EYRE. 27I

for hope — that here I should die : but I was soon up ; crawling
forwards on my hands and knees, and then again raised to my
feet — as eager and as determined as ever to reach the road.

When I got there I was forced to sit to rest me under the
hedge ; and while I sat, I heard wheels, and saw a coach come
on. I stood up, and lifted my hand ; it stopped. I asked where
it was going: the driver named a place a long way off, and
where I was sure Mr. Rochester had no connections. I asked
for what sum he would take me there ; he said thirty shillings ; I
answered I had but twenty; well, he would try to make it do.
He further gave me leave to get into the inside, as the vehicle
was empty : I entered, was shut in, and it rolled on its way.

Gentle reader, may you never feel what 1 then felt ! May your
eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as
poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers
so hopeless and so agonised as in that hour left my lips: for
never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to
what you wholly love.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

TWO days are passed. It is a summer evening ; the coach-
man has set me down at a placed called Whitcross ; he
could take me no farther for the sum I had given, and I was not
possessed of another shilling in the world. The coach is a mile
off by this time ; I am alone. At this moment I discover that I
forgot to take my parcel out of the pocket of the coach, where I
had placed it for safety ; there it remains, there it must remain ;
and now, I am absolutely destitute.

Whitcross is no town, nor even a hamlet; it is but a stone
set up where four roads meet; white-washed, I suppose to be
more obvious at a distance and in darkness. Four arms spring
from its summit: the nearest town to which these point is,
according to the inscription, distant ten miles; the farthest,
above twenty. From the well-known names of these towns I learn
in what county I have lighted ; a north-midland shire, dusk with
moorland, ridged with mountain: this I see. There are great
moors behind and on each hand of me; there are waves of
mountains far beyond that deep valley at my feet. The popula-
tion here must be thin, and I see no passengers on these roads :
they stretch out east, west, north, and south— white, broad,
lonely ; they are all cut in the moor, and the heather grows deep
and wild to their very verge. Yet a chance traveller might pass
by ; and I wish no eye to see me now : strangers would wonder
what I am doing, lingering here at the sign-post, evidently
objectless and lost. I might be questioned; I could give no
answer but what would sound incredible, and excite suspicion.

272 JANE EYRE.

Not a tie holds me to human society at this moment — not a
charm or hope calls me where my fellow-creatures are — none that
saw me would have a kind thought or a good wish for me. I
have no relative but the universal mother, Nature : I will seek
her breast and ask repose.

I struck straight into the heath ; I held on to a hollow I saw
deeply furrowing the brown moor side ; I waded knee-deep in its
darkgrowth ; I turned with its turnings, and, finding a moss-
blackened granite crag in a hidden angle, I sat down under it.
High banks of moor were about me ; the crag protected my head :
the sky was over that.

Some time passed before I felt tranquil even here : I had a
vague dread that wild cattle might be near, or that some sports-
man or poacher might discover me. If a gust of wind swept the
waste, I looked up, fearing it was the rush of a bull ; if a plover
whistled, I imagined it a man. Finding my apprehensions
unfounded, however, and calmed by the deep silence that reigned
as evening declined at nightfall, I took confidence. As yet I
had not thought ; I had only listened, watched, dreaded ; now I
regained the faculty of reflection.

What was I to do ? Where to go ? Oh, intolerable questions,
when I could do nothing and go nowhere ! — when a long way
must yet be measured by my weary, trembling limbs, before I
could reach human habitation — when cold charity must be
entreated before I could get a lodging: reluctant sympathy
importuned : almost certain repulse incurred : before my tale
could be listened to, or one of my wants relieved !

I touched the heath : it was dry, and yet warm with the heat of
the summer-day. I looked at the sky ; it was pure : a kindly
star twinkled just above the chasm ridge. The dew fell, but with
propitious softness ; no breeze whispered. Nature seemed to me
benign and good ; I thought she loved me, outcast as I was ;
and I, who from man could anticipate only mistrust, rejection,
insult, clung to her with filial fondness. To-night, at least, I
would be her guest — as I was her child : my mother would lodge
me without money and without price. I had one morsel of bread
yet : the remnant of a roll I had bought in a town we passed
through at noon with a stray penny — my last coin. I saw ripe
bilberries gleaming here and there, like jet beads in the heath :
I gathered a handful and ate them with the bread. My hunger,
sharp before, was, if not satisfied, appeased by this hermit's
meal. I said my evening prayers at its conclusion, and then
chose my couch.

Beside the crag, the heath was very deep : when I lay down
my feet were buried in it ; rising high on each side, it left only a
narrow space for the night-air to invade. I folded my shawl
double, and spread it over me for a coverlet ; a low, mossy swell
was my pillow. Thus lodged, I was not, at least at the com-
mencement of the night, cold.

My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart

JANE EYRE. 273

broke it. It plained of its gaping wounds, its inward bleeding,
its riven chords. It trembled for Mr. Rochester and his doom :
it bemoaned him with bitter pity ; it demanded him with cease-
less longing ; and, impotent as a bird with both wings broken, it
still quivered its shattered pinions in vain attempts to seek him.

Worn out with this torture of thought, I rose to my knees.
Night was come, and her planets were risen : a safe, still night ;
too serene for the companionship of fear. We know that God is
everywhere ; but certainly we feel His presence most when His
works are on the grandest scale spread before us : and it is in
the unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheel their silent
course, that we read clearest His infinitude, His omnipotence,
His omnipresence. I had risen to my knees to pray for Mr.
Rochester. Looking up, I, with tear-dimmed eyes, saw the
mighty Milky-way. Remembering what it was— what countless
systems there swept space like a soft trace of light— I felt the
might and strength of God. Sure was I of His efficiency to save
what He had made : convinced I grew that neither earth should
perish, nor one of the souls it treasured. I turned my prayer to
thanksgiving : the Source of Life was also the Saviour of spirits.
Mr. Rochester was safe ; he was God's and by God would he be
guarded. I again nestled to the breast of the hill ; and ere long,
in sleep, forgot sorrow.

But next day, Want came to me, pale and bare. Long after
the little birds had left their nests ; long after bees had come in
the sweet prime of day to gather the heath honey before the dew
was dried — when the morning shadows were curtailed, and the
sun filled earth and sky — I got up, and I looked round me.

What a still, hot, perfect dayl What a golden desert this
spreading moor ! Everywhere sunshine. I wished I could live
in it and on it. I saw a lizard run over the crag ; I saw a bee
busy among the sweet bilberries. I would fain at the moment
have become bee or lizard, that I might have found fitting nutri-
ment, permanent shelter here. But I was a human being and
had a human being's wants : I must not linger where there was
nothing to supply them. I rose; I looked back at the bed I had
left. Hopeless of the future, I wished but this — that my Maker
had that night thought good to require my soul of me whilst I
slept ; and that this weary frame, absolved by death from further
conflict with fate, had now but to decay quietly, and mingle in
peace with the soil of this wilderness. Life, however, was yet in
my possession : with all its requirements, and pains, and respon-
sibilities. The burden must be carried ; the want provided for;
the suffering endured ; the responsibility fulfilled. I set out.

Whitcross regained, I followed a roaa which led from the sun,
now fervent ana high. By no other circumstance had I will to
decide my choice. I walked a lonjj time, and when I thought
I had nearly done enough, and might conscientiously yield to
the fatigue that almost overpowered me— might relax this forced
action, and, sitting down on a stone I saw near, submit resist-

R

274 JANE EYRE.

lessly to the apathy that clogged heart and limb — I heard a bell
chime — a church bell.

I turned in the direction of the sound, and there, amongst the
romantic hills, whose changes and aspect I had ceased to note
an hour ago, I saw a hamlet and a spire. All the valley at my
right hand was full of pasture-fields, and corn-fields, and wood ;
and a glittering stream ran zig-zag through the varied shades of
green, the mellowing grain, the sombre woodland, the clear and
sunny lea. Recalled by the rumbling of wheels to the road
before me, I saw a heavily laden waggon labouring up the hill ;
and not far beyond were two cows and their drover. Human life
and human labour were near. I must struggle on ; strive to live
and bend to toil like the rest.

About two o'clock, p.m., I entered the village. At the bottom
of its one street, there was a little shop with some cakes of bread
in the window. I coveted a cake of bread. With that refresh-
ment I could perhaps regain a degree of energy ; without it, it
would be difficult to proceed. The wish to have some strength
and some vigour returned to me as soon as I was amongst my
fellow-beings. I felt it would be degrading to faint with hunger
on the causeway of a hamlet. Had I nothing about me I could
offer in exchange for one of these rolls ? I considered. I had a
small silk handkerchief tied round my throat ; I had my gloves.
I could hardly tell how men and women in extremities of destitu-
tion proceeded. I did not know whether either of these articles
would be accepted : probably they would not ; but I must try.

I entered the shop : a woman was there. Seeing a respectably
dressed person, a lady as she supposed, she came forward with
civility. How could she serve me ? I was seized with shame :
my tongue would not utter the request I had prepared. I dared
not offer her the half-worn gloves, the creased handkerchief;
besides, I felt it would be absurd. I only begged permission to
sit down a moment, as I was tired. Disappointed in the expec-
tation .of a customer, she coolly acceded to my request. She
pointed to a seat ; I sank into it. I felt sorely urged to weep ;
but conscious how unseasonable such a manifestation would be,
I restrained it. Soon I asked her, ''if there were any dress-
maker or plain-work-woman in the village ?"

" Yes : two or three. Quite as many as there was employment
for."

I reflected. I was driven to the point now. I was brought
face to face with Necessity. I stood in the position of one with-
out a resource: without a friend; without a coin. I must do
something. What ? I must apply somewhere. Where ?

" Did she know of any place in the neighbourhood where a
servant was wanted ?' '

" Nay; she couldn't say."

"What was the chief trade in this place ? What did most of
the people do ?"

JANE EYRE. 275

"Some were farm labourers; a good deal worked at Mr.
Oliver's needle-factory, and at the foundry."

" Did Mr. Oliver employ women ?"

" Nay ; it was men's work."

" And what do the women do ?"

" I knawn't," was the answer. " Some does one thing, and
some another. Poor folk mun get on as they can."

She seemed to be tired of my questions : and, indeed, what
claim had I to importune her? A neighbour or two came in;
my chair was evidently wanted. I took leave.

I passed up the street, looking as 1 went at all the houses to
the right hand and to the left : but I could discover no pretext,
nor see an inducement, to enter any. I rambled round the
hamlet, going sometimes to a little distance and returning again,
for an hour or more. Much exhausted and suffering greatly
now for want of food, I turned aside into a lane, and sat down
under the hedge. Ere many minutes had elapsed, I was again
on my feet, however, and again searching something — a
resource, or at least an informant. A pretty little house stood
at the top of the lane, with a garden before it ; exquisitely neat,
and brilliantly blooming. I stopped at it. What business had
I to approach the white door, or touch the glittering knocker?
In what way could it possibly be the interest of the inhabitants of
that dwelling to serve me ? Yet I drew near and knocked. A
mild-looking, cleanly-attired young woman opened the door. In
such a voice as might be expected from a hopeless heart and
fainting frame — a voice wretchedly low and faltering— -I asked if
a servant was wanted here ?

" No," said she, " we do not keep a servant."

" Can you tell me where I could get employment of any kind ?"
I continued. " I am a stranger, without acquaintance, in this
place. I want some work : no matter what."

But it was not her business to think for me, or to seek a place
for me : besides, in her eyes, how doubtful must have appeared
my character, position, tale. She shook her head, she "was
sorry she could give me no information," and the white door
closed, quite gently and civilly: but it shut me out. If she had
held it open a little longer, I believe I should have begged a
piece of bread ; for I was now brought low.

I could not bear to return to the sordid village ; where, besides,
no prospect of aid was visible. I should have longed rather to
deviate to a wood I saw not far off, which appeared in its thick
shade to offer shelter; but I was so sick, so weak, so gnawed
with nature's cravings, instinct kept me roaming round abodes
where there was a chance of fopd. Solitude would be no solitude
— rest no rest— while the vulture, hunger, thus sank beak and
talons in my side.

I drew near houses ; I left them, and came back again, and
again I wandered away : always repelled by the consciousness of
having no claim to ask — no right to expect interest in my

276 JANE EYRE.

isolated lot. Meantime, the afternoon advanced, while I thus
wandered about like a lost and starving dog. In crossing a
field, I saw the church spire before me : I hastened towards it.
Near the churchyard, and in the middle of a garden, stood a
well-built though small house, which I had no doubt was the
parsonage. I remembered that strangers who arrive at a place
where they have no friends, and who want employment, some-
times apply to the clergyman for introduction and aid. It is the
clergyman's function to help — at least with advice— those who
wished to help themselves. I seemed to have something like a
right to seek counsel here. Renewing then my courage, and
gathering my feeble remains of strength, I pushed on. I
reached the house, and knocked at the kitchen door. An old
woman opened it : I asked was this the parsonage ?

''Yes."

" Was the clergyman in ?"

"No."

" Would he be in soon ?"

" No, he was gone from home."

"To a distance ?"

" Not so far — happen three mile. He had been called away by
the sudden death of his father : he was at Marsh End now, and
would very likely stay there a fortnight longer."

" Was there any lady of the house ?"

" Nay, there was naught but her, and she was housekeeper;"
and of her, reader, I could not bear to ask the relief for want
of which I was sinking; I could not beg; and again I crawled
away.

Once more I took off my handerchief — once more I thought of
the cakes of bread in the little shop. Oh, for a crust ! for but
one mouthful to allay the pangs of famine ! Instinctively I
turned my face again to the village ; I found the shop again, and
I went in ; and though others were there besides the woman, I
ventured the request : " Would she give me a roll for this hand-
kerchief?"

She looked at me with evident suspicion: "Nay, she never
sold stuff i' that way."

Almost desperate, I asked for half a cake ; she again refused.
"How could she tell where I had got the handkerchief," she
said.

" Would she take my gloves ?"

" No ! what could she do with them ?"

Reader, it is not pleasant to dwell on these details. Some say
there is enjoyment in looking back to painful experience past;
but at this day I can scarcely bear, to review the times to which I
allude : the moral degradation, blent with the physical suffering,
form too distressing a recollection ever to be willingly dwelt on.
I blamed none of those who repulsed me. I felt it was what
was to be expected, and what could not be helped : an ordinary
beggar is frequently an object of suspicion; a well-dressed

JANE EYRE. 277

beggar inevitably so. To be sure what I begged was employ-
ment: but whose business was it to provide me with employ-
ment ? Not, certainly, that of persons who saw me then for the
first time, and who knew nothing about my character. And as
to the woman who would not take my handkerchief in exchange
for her bread, why, she was right ; if the offer appeared to her
sinister, or the exchange unprofitable. Let me condense now.
I am sick of the subject.

A little before dark I passed a farm-house, at the open door of
which the farmer was sitting, eating his supper of bread and
cheese; I stopped, and said, "Will you give me a piece of
bread? for I am hungry." He cast on me a glance of surprise;
but without answering he cut a thick slice from his loaf, and gave
it to me. I imagine he did not think I was a beggar, but only
an eccentric sort of lady, who had taken a fancy to his brown
loaf. As soon as I was out of sight of his house, I sat down and
ate it.

I could not hope to get a lodging under a roof, and sought it
in the wood I have before alluded to. But my night was
wretched, my rest broken : the ground was damp, the air cold :
besides intruders passed near me more than once, and I had
again and again to change my quarters : no sense of safety or
tranquillity befriended me. Towards morning it rained; the
whole of tne following day was wet. Do not ask me, reader, to
give a minute account of that day ; as before, I sought work ; as
before, I was repulsed ; as before, I starved ; but once did food
pass my lips. At the door of a cottage I saw a little girl about
to throw a mess of cold porridge into a pig trough. " Will you
give me that ?" I asked.

She stared at me. " Mother !" she exclaimed ; " there is a
woman wants me to give her these porridge."

" Well, lass," replied a voice within, " give it her if she's a
beggar. T' pig doesn't want it."

The girl emptied the stiffened mould into my hand, and I
devoured it ravenously.

As the wet twilight deepened, I stopped in a solitary bridle-
path, which I had been pursuing an hour or more.

" My strength is quite failing me," I said, in a soliloquy. " I
feel I cannot go much further. Shall I be an outcast again this
night ? While the rain descends so, must I lay my head on the
cold, drenched ground ! I fear I cannot do otherwise : for who
will receive me t But it will be very dreadful : with this feeling
of hunger, faintness, chill, and this sense of desolation — this total
prostration of hope. In all likelihood, though, I should die
before morning. And why cannot I reconcile myself to the
prospect of death ? Why ao I struggle to retain a valueless life ?
Because I know, or believe, Mr. Rochester is living: and then,
to die of want and cold, is a fate to which nature cannot submit
passively. Oh, Providence! sustain me a little longer I Aid —
direct me!"

278 JANE EYRE.

My glazed eye wandered over the dim and misty landscape. 1
saw I had strayed far from the village : it was quite out of sight.
The very cultivation surrounding it had disappeared. I had, by
cross-ways and by-paths, once more drawnnear the tract of moor-
land ; and now, only a few fields almost as wild and unproductive
as the heath from which they were scarcely reclaimed, lay
between me and the dusky hill.

"Well, I would rather die yonder than in a street, or on a
frequented road," I reflected. " And far better that crows and
ravens — if any ravens there be in these regions — should pick my
flesh from my bones, than they should be prisoned in a workhouse
coffin and moulder in a pauper's grave."

To the hill, then, I turned. I reached it. It remained now
only to find a hollow where I could lie down, and feel at least
hidden, if not secure ; but all the surface of the waste looked
level. It showed no variation but of tint : green, where rush and
moss overgrew the marshes ; black, where the dry soil bore only
heath. Dark as it was getting, I could still see these changes;
though but as mere alterations of light and shade : for colour
had faded with the daylight.

My eye still roved over the sullen swell, and along the moor-
edge, vanishing amidst the wildest scenery ; when at one dim
point, far in among the marshes and the ridges, a light sprang
up. "That is an ignis fatuits" was my first thought; and I
expected it would soon vanish. It burnt on, however, quite
steadily ; neither receding nor advancing. " Is it, then, a bon-
fire just kindled?" I questioned. I watched to see whether it
would spread : but no ; as it did not diminish, so it did not
enlarge. " It may be a candle in a house," I then conjectured:
"but if so, I can never reach it. It is much too far away; and
were it within a yard of me, what would it avail ? I should but
knock at the door to have it shut in my face."

And I sank down where I stood, and hid my face against the
ground. I lay still a while : the night-wind swept over the hill
and over me, and died moaning in the distance ; the rain fell fast,
wetting me afresh to the skin. Could I but have stiffened to the
still frost— the friendly numbness of death — it might have pelted
on : I should not have felt it ; but my yet living flesh shuddered
to its chilling influence. I rose ere long.

The light was yet there; shining dim but constant, through
the rain. I tried to walk again : I dragged my exhausted limbs
slowly towards it. It led me aslant over the hill, through a wide
bog; which would have been impassable in winter, and was
splashy and shaking ever now, in the height of summer. Here I
fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied my faculties. This
light was my forlorn hope ; I must gain it.

Having crossed the marsh, I saw a trace of white over the
moor. I approached it ; it was a road or a track : it led straight
up to the light, which now beamed from a sort of knoll, amidst a
clump of trees— firs, apparently, from what I could distinguish of

JANE EYRE. 279

the character of their forms and foliage through the gloom. My
star vanished as I drew near: some obstacle had intervened
between me and it. I put out my hand to feel the dark mass
before me; I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall— above
it, something like palisades, and within, a high and prickly
hedge. I groped on. Again a whitish object gleamed before
me : it was a gate— a wicket ; it moved on its hinges as I touched
it. On each side stood a sable bush — holly or yew.

Entering the gate and passing the shruDs, the silhouette of a
house rose to view ; black, low, and rather long ; but the guiding
light shone nowhere. All was obscurity. Were the inmates
retired to rest ? I feared it must be so. In seeking the door, I
turned an angle ; there shot out the friendly gleam again, from
the lozenged panes of a very small latticed window, within a foot
of the ground ; made still smaller by the growth of ivy or some
other creeping plant, whose leaves clustered thick over the por-
tion of the house wall in which it was set. The aperture was so
screened and narrow, that curtain or shutter had been deemed
unnecessary ; and when I stooped down and put aside the spray
of foliage shooting over it, I could see all within. I could see
clearly a room with a sanded floor, clean scoured ; a dresser of
of walnut, with pewter plates ranged in rows, reflecting the red-
ness and radiance of a glowing peat-fire. I could see a clock, a
white deal table, some chairs. The candle, whose ray had been
my beacon, burnt on the table: and by its light an elderly
woman, somewhat rough-looking, but scrupulously clean, like all
about her, was knitting a stocking.

I noticed these objects cursorily only — in them there was
nothing extraordinary. A group of more interest appeared near
the hearth, sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffus-
ing it. Two young, graceful women— ladies in every point — sat,
one in a low rocking-chair, the other on a lower stool ; both wore
deep mourning of crape and bombazeen, which sombre garb
singularly set off very fair necks and faces : a lanje old pointer
dog rested its massive head on the knee of one girl-— in the lap of
the other was cushioned a black cat.

A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants !
Who were they ? They could not be the daughters of the elderly
person at the table ; for she looked like a rustic, and they were
all delicacy and cultivation. I had nowhere seen such faces as
theirs: and yet, as I gazed on them, I seemed intimate with
every lineament. I cannot call them handsome — they were too

f>ale and grave for the word : as they each bent over a book, they
ooked thoughtful almost to severity. A stand between them
supported a second candle and two great volumes, to which they
frequently referred ; comparing them seemingly with the smaller
books they held in their hands, like people consulting a dictionary
to aid them in the task of translation. This scene was as silent
as if all the figures had been shadows, and the fire-lit apartment
a picture : so hushed was it, I could hear the cinders fall from

280 JANE EYRE.

the grate, the clock tick in its obscure corner ; and I even fancied'
I could distinguish the click-click of the woman's knitting-
needles. When, therefore, a voice broke the strange stillness at
last, it was audible enough to me.

" Listen, Diana," said one of the absorbed students; " Franz-
and old Daniel are together in the night-time, and Franz is
telling a dream from which he has awakened in terror — listen !"
And in a low voice she read something, of which not one word
was intelligible to me ; for it was in an unknown tongue — neither
French nor Latin. Whether it were Greek or German I could
not tell.

"That is strong," she said, when she had finished: "I relish
it." The other girl, who had lifted her head to listen to her
sister, repeated, while she gazed at the fire, a line of which had
been read. At a later day, I knew the language and the book ;
therefore I will here quote the line : though when I first heard it,
it was only like a stroke on sounding brass to me — conveying no
meaning :

"'Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht.'
Good! good!" she exclaimed, while her dark and deep eye
sparkled. "There you have a dim and mighty archangel fitly
set before you ! The line is worth a hundred pages of fustain.
' Ich wage die Gedanken in der Schale meines Zornes und die
Werke mit dem Gewichte meines Grimms.' I like it!"

Both were again silent.

" Is there ony country where they talk i' that way ?" asked the
old woman, looking up from her knitting.

"Yes, Hannah— a far larger country than England; where
they talk in no other way."

" Well, for sure case, I knawn't how they can understand t' one
t' other : and if either o' ye went there, ye could tell what they
said, I guess?"

" We could probably tell something of what they said, but not
all— for we are not as clever as you think us, Hannah. We don't
speak German, and we cannot read it without a dictionary to
help us."

" And what good does it do you ?"

"We mean to teach it some time — or at least the elements, as
they say; and then we shall get more money than we do now."

"Varrylike: but give ower studying: ye've done enough for
to-night."

" I think We have : at least I'm tired. Mary, are you ?"

"Mortally: after all, it's tough work fagging away at a
language with no master but a lexicon."

" It is : especially such a language as this crabbed but glorious
Deutsch. I wonder when St. John will come home."

" Surely he will not be long now: it is just ten (looking at a
little gold watch she drew from her girdle). "It rains fast.
-Hannah, will you have the goodness to look at the fire in the
feaftout j>'f j

' JANEEYRE. 28l

The woman rose : she opened a door, through which I dimly
saw a passage : soon I heard her stir the fire in an inner room ;
she presently came back.

" Ah, childer!" said she, " it fair troubles me to go into yond'
room now : it looks so lonesome wi' the chair empty and set back
in a corner."

She wiped her eyes with her apron : the two girls, grave before,
looked sad now.

"But he is in a better place," continued Hannah: "we
shouldn't wish him here again. And then, nobody need to have
a quieter death nor he had."

" You say he never mentioned us ?" inquired one of the ladies.

" He hadn't time, bairn : he was gone in a minute— was your
father. He had been a bit ailing like the day before, but naught
to signify; and when Mr. St. John asked if he would like either
o' ye to be sent for, he fair laughed at him. He began again
with a bit of heaviness in his head the next day— that is, a fort-
night sin' — and he went to sleep and niver wakened: he wor
a'raost stark when your brother went into t' chamber and fand
him. Ah, childer 1 that's t' last o' t' old stock— for ye and Mr.
St. John is like of a different soart to them 'at's gone : for all
your mother wor mich i' your way; and a'most as book-learned.
She wor the pictur' o' ye, Mary; Diana is more like your
father."

I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant
(for such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Both
were fair complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed
faces full of distinction and intelligence. One, to be sure, had
hair a shade darker than the other, and there was a difference
in their style of wearing it : Mary's pale brown locks were parted
and braided smooth ; Diana's duskier tresses covered her neck
with thick curls. The clock struck ten.

"Ye'll want your supper, I am sure," observed Hannah;
" and so will Mr. St. John when he comes in."

And she proceeded to prepare the meal. The ladies rose;
they seemea about to withdraw to the parlour. Till this
moment, I had been so intent on watching them, their appear-
ance and conversation had excited in me so keen an interest, I
had half-forgotten my own wretched position; now it recurred
to me. More desolate, more desperate than ever, it seemed from
contrast. And how impossible did it appear to touch the inmates
of this house with concern on my behalf; to make them believe
in the truth of my wants and woes— to induce them to vouchsafe
a rest for my wanderings I As I groped out the door, and
knocked at it hesitatingly, I felt that last idea to be a mere
chimera. Hannah opened.

" What do you want ?" she inquired, in a voice of surprise, as
she surveyed me by the light of the candle^ she held.

" May I speak to your mistresses ?" I said.

282 JANE EYRE.

"You had better tell me what you have to say to them.
Where do you come from ?"

" I am a stranger."

" What is your business here at this hour?"

11 1 want a night's shelter in an outhouse or anywhere, and a
morsel of bread to eat."

Distrust, the very feeling I dreaded, appeared in Hannah's
face. " I'll give you a piece of bread," she said, after a pause;
" but we can't take in a vagrant to lodge. It isn't likely."

" Do let me speak to your mistresses."

" No ; not I. What can they do for you ? You should not be
roving about now; it looks very ill."

" But where shall I go if you drive me away? What shall I
do?"

" Oh, I'll warrant you know where to go, and what to do.
Mind you don't do wrong, that's all. Here's a penny; now
go "

"A penny cannot feed me, and I have no strength to go
farther. Don't shut the door : — oh, don't, for God's sake !"

" I must ; the rain is driving in "

" Tell the young ladies. Let me see them "

" Indeed, I will not. You are not what you ought to be, or
you wouldn't make such a noise. Move off."

" But I must die if I am turned away."

" Not you. I'm fear'd you have some ill plans agate, that
bring you about folk's houses at this time o' night. If you've any
followers — house-breakers or such like — anywhere near, you may
tell them we are not by ourselves in the house ; we have a gentle-
man, and dogs, and guns." Here the honest but inflexible
servant clapped the door to and bolted it within.

This was the climax. A pang of exquisite suffering — a throe
of true despair — rent and heaved my heart. Worn out, indeed, I
was ; not another step could I stir. I sank on the wet door-
step : I groaned — I wrung my hands — I wept in utter anguish.
Oh, this spectre of death ! Oh, this last hour, approaching in
such horror ! Alas, this isolation — this banishment from my
kind ! Not only the anchor of hope, but the footing of fortitude
was gone — at least for a moment : but the last I soon endea-
voured to regain.

"I can but die," I said, "and I believe in God. Let me try
to wait His will in silence."

These words I not only thought, but uttered ; and thrusting
back all my misery into my heart, I made an effort to compel it
to remain there — dumb and still.

"All men must die," said a voice quite close at hand; "but
all are not condemned to meet a lingering and premature doom,
such as yours would be if you perished here of want."

"Who or what speaks?" I asked, terrified at the unexpected
sound, and incapable now of deriving from any occurrence a
hope of aid. A form was near — what form, the pitch-dark night

JANE EYRE. 283

and my enfeebled vision prevented me from distinguishing.
With a loud long knock, the new-comer appealed to the door,

" Is it you, Mr. St. John ?" cried Hannah.

"Yes— yes; open quickly."

" Well, how wet and cold you must be, such a wild night as it
is! Come in — your sisters are quite uneasy about you, and I
believe there are bad folks about. There has been a beggar-
woman— I declare she is not gone yet !— laid down there. Get
up! for shame ! Move off, I say!"

" Hush, Hannah ! I have a word to say to the woman. You
have done your duty in excluding, now let me do mine in admit-
ting her. I was near, and listened to both you and her. I think
this is a peculiar case — I must at least examine into it. Young
woman, rise, and pass before me into the house."

With difficulty I obeyed him. Presently I stood within that
clean, bright kitchen— on the very hearth— trembling, sickening;
conscious of an aspect in the last degree ghastly, wild, and
weather-beaten. The two ladies, their brother, Mr. St. John,
the old servant, were all gazing at me.

"St. John, who is it?" I heard one ask.

" I cannot tell : 1 found her at the door," was the reply.

" She does look white," said Hannah.

" As white as clay or death," was responded. " She will fall ;
let her sit."

And indeed my head swam : I dropped ; but a chair received
me. I still possessed my senses ; though just now I could not
speak.

" Perhaps a little water would restore her. Hannah fetch
some. But she is worn to nothing. How very thin, and how
very bloodless!"

"A mere spectre!"

" Is she ill, or only famished ?"

" Famished, I think. Hannah, is that milk ? Give it me, and
apiece of bread."

Diana (I knew her by the long curls which I saw drooping
between me and the fire as she bent over me) broke some bread,
dipped it in milk, and put it to my lips. Her face was near mine :
I saw there was pity in it, and I felt sympathy in her hurried
breathing. In her simple words, too, the same balm-like
emotion spoke : " Try to eat."

"Yes — try," repeated Mary, gently; and Mary's hand
removed my sodden Donnet and lifted my head. I tasted what
they offered me : feebly at first, eagerly soon.

" Not too much at first— restrain her," said the brother; " she
has had enough." And he withdrew the cup of milk and the
plate of bread.

" A little more, St. John— look at the avidity in her eyes."

" No more at present, sister. Try if she can speak now— ask
her her name."

I felt I could speak, and I answered — " My name is J.inc

284 JANE EYRE.

Elliott." Anxious as ever to avoid discovery, I had 'before
resolved to assume an alias.

" And where do you live ? Where are your friends ?"

I was silent.

" Can we send for any one you know ?"

I shook my head.

" What account can you give of yourself?"

Somehow, now that I had once crossed the threshold of this
house, and once was brought face to face with its owners, I felt
no longer outcast, vagrant, and disowned by the wide world. I
dared to put off the mendicant — to resume my natural manner
and character. I began once more to know myself; and when
Mr. St. John demanded an account — which at present I was far
too weak to render — I said after a brief pause —

" Sir, I can give you no details to-night."

" But what, then," said he, ''do you expect me to do for
you?"

"Nothing," I replied. My strength sufficed for but short
answers. Diana took the word :

"Do you mean," she asked, "that we have now given you
what aid you require ? and that we may dismiss you to the moor
and the rainy night ?"

I looked at her. She had, I thought, a remarkable counten-
ance ; instinct both with power and goodness. I took sudden
courage. Answering her compassionate gaze with a smile, I
said : " I will trust you. If I were a masterless and stray dog, I
know that you would not turn me from your hearth to-night ; as
it is I really have no fear. Do with me and for me as you like ;
but excuse me from much discourse — my breath is short — I feel a
spasm when I speak." All three surveyed me, and all three
were silent.

"Hannah," said Mr. St. John, at last, "let her sit there at
present, and ask her no questions ; in ten minutes more, give her
the remainder of that milk and bread. Mary and Diana, let us
go into the parlour and talk the matter over."

They withdrew. Very soon one of the ladies returned — I could
not tell which. A kind of pleasant stupor was stealing over me
as I sat by the genial fire. In an undertone she gave some
directions to Hannah. Ere long, with the servant's aid, I con-
trived to mount a staircase ; my dripping clothes were removed ;
soon, a warm, dry bed received me. I thanked God — experi-
enced amidst unutterable exhaustion a glow of grateful joy —
and slept.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE recollection of about three days and nights succeeding
this is very dim in my mind. I can recall some sensations
felt in that interval; but few thoughts framed, and no actions

JANE EYRE. 285

?;rformed. I knew I was in a small room, and in a narrow bed.
that bed I seemed to have grown; I lay on it motionless
as a stone ; and to have torn me from it would have been almost
to kill me. I took no note of the lapse of time — of the change
from morning to noon, from noon to evening. I observed when
any one entered or left the apartment ; I could even tell who they
were ; I could understand what was said when the speaker stood
near to me ; but I could not answer ; to open my lips or move my
limbs was equally impossible. Hannah, the servant, was my
most frequent visitor. Her coming disturbed me. I had a feel-
ing that she wished me away : that she did not understand me or
my circumstances ; that she was prejudiced against me. Diana
and Mary appeared in the chamber once or twice a day. They
would whisper sentences of this sort at my bedside — "It is very
well we took her in."

" Yes ; she would certainly have been found dead at the door
in the morning, had she been left out all night. I wonder what
she has gone through ?" ,

" Strange hardships, I imagine — poor, emaciated, pallid
wanderer!"

"She is not an uneducated person, I should think, by her
manner of speaking ; her accent was quite pure ; and the clothes
she took off, though splashed and wet, were little worn and fine."

"She has a peculiar face; fleshless and haggard as it is, I
rather like it; and when in good health and animated, I can
fancy her physiognomy would be agreeable."

Never once in their dialogues did I hear a syllable of regret at
the hospitality they had extended to me ; or of suspicion of, or
aversion to myself. I was comforted.

Mr. St. John came but once : he looked at me, and said my
state of lethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and
protracted fatigue. He pronounced it needless to send for a
doctor: nature, he was sure, would manage best, left to herself.
He said every nerve had been overstrained in some way, and the
whole system must sleep torpid a while. There was no disease.
He imagined my recovery would be rapid enough when once
commenced. These opinions he delivered in a few words, in a
quiet, low voice ; and added, after a pause, in the tone of a man
little accustomed to expansive comment, " rather an unusual
physiognomy ; certainly, not indicative of vulgarity or degrada-
tion."

"Far otherwise," responded Diana. "To speak truth, St.
John, my heart rather warms to the poor little soul. I wish we
may be able to benefit her permanently."

"That is hardly likely," was the reply. " You will find she is
some young lady who has had a misunderstanding with her
friends and has probably injudiciously left them. We may,
perhaps, succeed in restoring ner to them, if she is not obstinate:
but I trace lines of force in her face which make mc sceptical of

286 JANE EYRE.

her tractability." He stood considering me some minutes ; then
added, " She looks sensible, but not at all handsome."

"She is so ill, St. John."

" 111 or well, she would always be plain. The grace and
harmony of beauty are quite wanting in those features."

On the third day, I was better ; on the fourth I could speak,
move, rise in bed, and turn. Hannah had brought me some
gruel and dry toast, about, as I supposed, the dinner hour. I
had eaten with relish : the food was good — void of the feverish
flavour which had hitherto poisoned what I had swallowed.
When she left me, I felt comparatively strong and revived ; ere
long satiety of repose, and desire for action stirred me. I wished
to rise ; but what could I put on ? Only my damp and bemired.
apparel ; in which I had slept on the ground and fallen in the
marsh. I felt ashamed to appear before my benefactors so clad.
I was spared the humiliation.

On a chair by the bedside were all my own things, clean and
dry. My black silk frock hung against the wall. The traces of
the bog were removed from it ; the creases left by the wet
smoothed out : it was quite decent. My very shoes and stockings
were purified and rendered presentable. There were the means
of washing in the room, and a comb and brush to smooth my
hair. After a weary process, and resting every five minutes, I
succeeded in dressing myself. My clothes hung loose on me ;
for I was much wasted, but I covered deficiencies with a shawl,
and once more, clean and respectable-looking — no spec of the
dirt, no trace of the disorder I so hated, and which seemed so to
degrade me, left — I crept down a stone staircase with the aid of
the banisters, to a narrow low passage, and found my way
presently to the kitchen.

It was full of the fragrance of new bread, and the warmth of a
generous fire. Hannah was baking. Prejudices, it is well
known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil
has never been loosened or fertilised by education: they grow
there, firm as weeds among stones. Hannah had been cold and
stiff, indeed, at the first : latterly she had begun to relent a little ;
and when she saw me come in tidy and well-dressed, she even
smiled.

"What, you have got up?" she said. " You are better, then.
You may sit you down in my chair on the hearth-stone, if you
will."

She pointed to the rocking chair : I took it. She bustled about
examining me every now and then with the corner of her eye.
Turning to me, as she took some loaves from the oven, she
asked, bluntly :

" Did you ever go a-begging afore you came here ?"

I was indignant for a moment; but remembering that anger
was out of the question, and that I had indeed appeared as a
beggar to her, I answered Quietly ; but still not without a certain
marked firmness :

JANE EYRE. 287

"You are mistaken in supposing me a beggar. I am no
beggar ; any more than yourself or your young laaies."

After a pause, she said, "I dunnot understand that: you've
like no house, nor no brass, I guess ?"

" The want of house or brass (by which I suppose you mean
money) does not make a beggar in your sense of the word."

" Are you book-learned ?" she inquired, presently.

"Yes, very."

" But you've never been to a boarding-school 1"

" I was at a boarding-school eight years."

She opened her eyes wide. "Whatever cannot ye keep
yourself for, then ?"

"I have kept myself; and, I trust, shall keep myself again.
What are you going to do with these gooseberries?" I inquired,
as she brought out a basket of the fruit.

" Mak' 'em into pies."

" Give them to me and I'll pick them."

"Nay; I dunnot want ye to do nought."

" But I must do something. Let me have them."

She consented; and she even brought me a clean towel to
spread over my dress, " lest," as she said, " I should mucky it."

" Ye've not been used to sarvant's wark, I see by your hands,"
she remarked. " Happen ye've been a dressmaker."

"No, you are wrong. And, now, never mind what I have
been ; don't bother your head further about me ; but tell me the
name of the house where we are."

" Some calls it Marsh End, and some calls it Moor House."

" And the gentleman who lives here is called Mr. St. John."

"Nay; he doesn't live here: he is only staying a while.
When he is at home, he is in his own parish at Morton."

"That village a few miles?"

"Aye."

" And what is he ?"

" He is a parson."

I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parson-
age, when I had asked to see the clergyman. "This, then, was
his father's residence?"

"Aye; old Mr. River's lived here, and his father, and grand-
father, and gurt (great) grandfather afore him."

"The name, then, of that gentleman, is Mr. St. John Rivers ?"

"Aye; St. John is like his kirstened name."

"And his sisters are called Diana and Mary Rivers?"

"Yes."

" Their father is dead ?"

" Dead three weeks sin' of a stroke."

" They have no mother?"

"The mistress has been dead this mony a year."

" Have you lived with the family long? '

" I've lived here thirty year. I nursed them all three."

"That proves you must have been an honest and faithful

288 JANE EYRE.

servant. I will say so much for you, though you have had the
incivility to call me a beggar."

Again she regarded me with a surprised stare. " I believe,"
she said, "I was quite mista'en in my thoughts of you: but
there is so mony cheats goes about, you mun forgie me."

"And though," I continued, rather severely, "you wished to
turn me from the door, on the night when you should not have
shut out a dog."

"Well, it was hard: but what can a body do? I thought
more o' th' childer nor of mysel : poor things ! They've like
nobody to tak' care on 'em but me. I'm like to look sharpish."

I maintained a grave silence for some minutes.

"You munnut think too hardly of me," she again remarked.

" But I do think hardly of you," I said; " and I'll tell you why
— not so much because you refused to give me shelter or regarded
me as an impostor, as because you just now made it a species of
reproach that I had no ' brass,' and no house. Some of the best
people that ever lived have been as destitute as I am ; and if you
are a Christian, you ought not to consider poverty a crime."

" No more 1 ought," said she : " Mr. St. John tells me so too ;
and I see I wor wrang — but I've clear a different notion on you
now to what I had. You look a raight down dacent little
crater."

" That will do — I forgive you now. Shake hands."

She put her floury and horny hand into mine ; another and
heartier smile illumined her rough face : and from that moment
we were friends.

Hannah was evidently fond of talking. While I picked the
fruit, and she made the paste for the pies, she proceeded to give
me sundry details about her deceased master and mistress, and
" the childer," as she called the young people.

Old Mr. Rivers, she said, was a plain man enough ; but a gen-
tleman, and of as ancient a family as could be found. Marsh
End had belonged to the Rivers' ever since it was a house : and
it was, she affirmed, " aboon two hundred year old — for all it
looked but a small, humble place, naught to compare wi' Mr.
Oliver's grand hall down i' Morton Vale. But she could remem-
ber Bill Oliver's father a journeyman needlemaker ; and th' Rivers'
wor gentry i' thi' owd days o' th' Henrys, as onybody might
see by looking into th' registers i' Morton Church vestry." Still,
she allowed, " the owd maister was like other folk— naught mich
out o' t' common way : stark mad o' shooting, and farming, and
sich like." The mistress was different. She was a great reader,
and studied a deal; and the "bairns" had taken after her.
There was nothing like them in these parts, nor ever had been ;
they had liked learning, all three, almost from the time they
could speak; and they had always been " of a mak' of their
own." Mr. St. John, when he grew up, would go to college and
be a parson ; and the girls, as soon as they left school, would
seek places as governesses : for they had told her their father

JANE EYRE. 289

had some years ago lost a great deal of money, by a man he had
trusted turning bankrupt ; and as he was now not rich enough to
give them fortunes, they must provide for themselves. They had
lived very little at home for a long while, and were only come
now to stay a few weeks on account of their father's death: but
they did so like Marsh End and Morton, and all these moors and
hills about. They had been in London, and many other grand
towns, but they always said there was no place like home ; and
then they were so agreeable with each other— never fell out nor
" threaped." She did not know where there was such a family
for being united.

Having finished my task of gooseberry picking, I asked where
the two ladies and their brother were now.

" Gone over to Morton for a walk ; but they would be back in
half an hour to tea."

They returned within the time Hannah had allotted them :
they entered by the kitchen door. Mr. St. John, when he saw
me, merely bowed and passed through : the two ladies stopped :
Mary, in a few words, kindly and calmly expressed the pleasure
she felt in seeing me well enough to be able to come down ;
Diana took my hand: she shook her head at me.

'* You should have waited for my leave to descend," she said.
" You still look very pale — and so thin ! Poor child I poor girl !"

Diana had a voice toned, to my ear, like the cooing of a dove.
She possessed eyes whose gaze I delighted to encounter. Her
whole face seemed to me full of charm. Mary's countenance was
equally intelligent— her features equally pretty : but her expres-
sion was more reserved ; and her manners, though gentle, more
distant. Diana looked and spoke with a certain authority : she
had a will, evidently. It was my nature to feel pleasure in
yielding to an authority supported like hers ; and to bend, where
my conscience and self-respect permitted, to an active will.

" And what business have you here?" she continued. "It is
not your place. Mary and I sit in the kitchen sometimes,
because at home we like to be free, even to licence— but vou are
a visitor, and must go into the parlour."

" I am very well here."

"Not at all— with Hannah bustling about and covering you
with flour."

" Besides, the fire is too hot for you," interposed Mary.

"To be sure," added her sister. "Come, you must be
obedient." And still holding my hand she made me rise, and
led me into the inner room.

" Sit there," she said, placing me on the sofa, " while we take
our things off and get the tea ready; it is another privilege we
exercise in our little moorland home — to prepare our own meals
when we are so inclined ; or when Hannah is baking, brewing,
washing, or ironing."

She closed the door, leaving me solus with Mr. St. John, who

S

29O JANE EYRE.

sat opposite: a book or newspaper in his hand. I examined,
first the parlour, and then its occupant.

The parlour was rather a small room, very plainly furnished ;
yet comfortable, because clean and neat. The old-fashioned
chairs were very bright, and the walnut-wood table was like a
looking-glass. A few strange, antique portraits of the men and
women of other days decorated the stained walls ; a cupboard
with glass doors contained some books and an ancient set of
china. There was no superfluous ornament in the room — not one
modern piece of furniture, save a brace of work-boxes and a lady's
desk in rosewood, which stood on a side-table: everything —
including the carpet and curtains— looked at once well worn and
well saved.

Mr. St. John — sitting as still as one of the dusky pictures on
the walls ; keeping his eyes fixed on the page he perused, and
his lips mutely sealed — was easy enough to examine. Had he
been a statue instead of a man, he could not have been easier.
He was young — perhaps from twenty-eight to thirty — tall, slender;
his face riveted the eye ; it was like a Greek face, very pure in
outline : quite a straight, classic nose ; quite an Athenian mouth
and chin. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comes so near
the antique models as did his. He might well be a little shocked
at the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious.
His eyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high
forehead, colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over by
careless locks of fair hair.

This is a gentle delineation, is it not, reader? Yet he whom it
describes scarcely impressed one with the idea of a gentle, a
yielding, an impressible, or even of a placid nature. Quiescent
as he now sat, there was something about his nostril, his mouth,
his brow, which, to my perceptions, indicated elements within
either restless, or hard, or eager. He did not speak to me one
word or even direct to me one glance, till his sisters returned.
Diana as she passed in and out, in the course of preparing tea,
brought me a little cake, baked on the top of the oven.

"Eat that now," she said: "you must be hungry. Hannah
says you have had nothing but some gruel since breakfast."

I did not refuse it, for my appetite was awakened and keen.
Mr. Rivers now closed his book, approached the table, and, as
he took a seat, fixed his blue pictorial-looking eyes full on me.
There was an unceremonious directness, a searching, decided
steadfastness in his gaze now, which told that intention, and not
diffidence, had hitherto kept it averted from the stranger.

" You are very hungry," he said.

"I am, sir." It is my way — it always was my way, by
instinct — ever to meet the brief with brevity, the direct with
plainness.

" It is well for you that a low fever has forced you to abstain
for the last three days, there would have been danger in yielding

JANE EYRE. 29I

to the cravings of your appetite at first. Now you may eat;
though still not immoderately."

" I trust I shall not eat long at your expense, sir," was my
very clumsily contrived, unpolished answer.

"No," he said, coolly: "when you have indicated to us the
residence of your friends, we can write to them, and you may be
restored to home."

"That, I must plainly tell you, is out of my power to do;
being absolutely without home and friends."

The three looked at me ; but not distrustfully ; I felt there was
no suspicion in their glances : there was more of curiosity. I
speak particularly of the young ladies. St. John's eyes, though
clear enough in a literal sense, in a figurative one were difficult
to fathom. He seemed to use them rather as instruments to
search other people's thoughts, than as agents to reveal his own,
the which combination of keenness and reserve was considerably
more calculated to embarrass than to encourage.

"Do you mean to say," he asked, "that you are completely
isolated from every connection ?"

" I do. Not a tie links me to any living thing : not a claim do
I possess to admittance under any roof in England."

"A most singular position at your age !"

Here 1 saw his glance directed to my hands, which were folded
on the table before me. I wondered what he sought there : his
words soon explained the quest.

" You have never been married ? You are a spinster ?"

Diana laughed. "Why, she can't be above seventeen or
eighteen years old, St. John," said she.

"I am near nineteen: but I am not married. No."

I felt a burning glow mount to my face ; for bitter and agitat-
ing recollections were awakened by the allusion to marriage.
They all saw the embarrassment, and the emotion. Diana and
Mary relieved me by turning their eyes elsewhere than to my
crimsoned visage: but the colder and sterner brother continued
to gaze, till the trouble he had excited forced out tears as well
as colour.

" Where did you last reside ?" he now asked.

"You are too inquisitive, St. John," murmured Mary, in a low
voice ; but he leaned over the table and required an answer, by a
second firm and piercing look.

" The name of the place where, and of the person with whom I
lived, is my secret," I replied, concisely.

"Which, if you like, you have, in my opinion, a right to
keep, both from St. John and every other questioner," remarked
Diana.

" Yet if I know nothing about you or your history, I cannot
help you," he said. " And you need help : do you not ?"

" I need it, and I seek it; so far, sir, that some true philan-
thropist will put me in the way of getting work which I can do,

292 JANE EYRE.

and the remuneration for which will keep me ; if but in the
barest necessaries of life."

" I know not whether I am a true philanthropist ; yet I am
willing to aid you to the utmost of my power, in a purpose so
honest. First, then, tell me what you have been accustomed to
do, and what you can do."

I had now swallowed my tea. I was mightily refreshed by the
beverage ; as much so as a giant with wine : it gave new tone to
my unstrung nerves, and enabled me to address this penetrating
young judge steadily.

"Mr. Rivers," I said, turning to him, and looking at him, as
he looked at me, openly and without diffidence, "you and your
sisters have done me a great service — the greatest man can do
his fellow-being ; you have rescued me, by your noble hospitality,
from death. This benefit conferred gives you an unlimited claim
on my gratitude ; and a claim, to a certain extent, on my con-
fidence. I will tell you as much of the history of the wanderer
you have harboured, as I can tell without compromising my own
peace of mind — my own security, moral and physical, and that of
others.

" I am an orphan ; the daughter of a clergyman. My parents
died before I could know them. I was brought up a dependent;
educated in a charitable institution. I will even tell you the
name of the establishment, where I passed six years as a pupil,

and two as a teacher — Lowood Orphan Asylum, shire : you

will have heard of it, Mr. Rivers ? — the Rev. Robert Brockle-
hurst is the treasurer."

"I have heard of Mr. Brocklehurst, and I have seen the
school."

" I left Lowood nearly a year since to become a private gover-
ness. I obtained a good situation, and was happy. This place
I was obliged to leave four days before I came here. The reason
of my departure I cannot and ought not to explain : it would be.
useless — dangerous; and would sound incredible. No blame
attached to me : I am as free from culpability as any one of you
three. Miserable I am, and must be for a time ; for the catas-
trophe which drove me from a house I had found a paradise was
of a strange and direful nature. I observed but two points in
planning my departure— speed, secrecy : to secure these, I had
to leave behind me everything I possessed except a small parcel ;
which, in my hurry and trouble of mind, I forgot to take out of
the coach that brought me to Whitcross. To this neighbour-
hood, then, I came, quite destitute. I slept two nights in the'
open air, and wandered about two days without crossing a thres-
hold : but twice in that space of time did I taste food : and it
was when brought by hunger, exhaustion, and despair, almost to
the last gasp, that you, Mr. Rivers, forbade me to perish of want
at your door, and took me under the shelter of your roof. I know
all your sisters have done for me since, for I have not been insen-
sible during my seeming torpor, and I owe to their spontaneous,

JANE EYRE. 293

genuine, genial compassion as large a debt as to your evangelical
charity."

"Don't make her talk any more now, St. John," said Diana,
as I paused ; " she is evidently not yet fit for excitement. Come
to the sofa, and sit down now, Miss Elliott."

" I gave an involuntary half-start at hearing the alias: I had
forgotten my new name. Mr. Rivers, whom nothing seemed to
escape, noticed it at once.

" You said your name was Jane Elliott ?" he observed.

" I did say so; and it is the name by which I think it expedi-
ent to be called at present : but it is not my real name, and when
I hear it, it sounds strange to me."

" Your real name you will not give ?"

" No : I fear discovery above all things ; and whatever disclo-
sure would lead to it I avoid."

"You are quite right, I am sure," said Diana. "Now do,
brother, let her be at peace a while."

But when St. John had mused a few moments, he recom-
menced, as imperturbably, and with as much acumen as ever.

"You would not like to be long dependent on our hospitality —
you would wish, I see, to dispense as soon as may be with my
sisters' compassion; and, above all, with my charity (I am quite
sensible of the distinction drawn, nor do 1 resent it — it is just):
you desire to be independent of us ?"

"I do: I have already said so. Show me how to work, or
how to seek work : that is all I now ask ; then let me go, if
it be but to the meanest cottage — but //// then allow me to
stay here: I dread another essay of the horrors of homeless
destitution."

" Indeed, you shall stay here," said Diana, putting her white
hand on my head. "You shall," repeated Mary, in the tone of
undemonstrative sincerity which seemed natural to her.

" My sisters, you see, have a pleasure in keeping you," said
Mr. St. John, "as they would have a pleasure in Keeping and
cherishing a half-frozen bird, some wintry wind might have
driven through their casement. / feel more inclination to put
you in the way of keeping yourself; and shall endeavour to do
so : but observe, my sphere is narrow. I am but the incumbent
of a poor country parish : my aid must be of the humblest sort.
And if you are inclined to despise the day of small things, seek
some more efficient succour than such as I can offer."

" She has already said that she is willing to do anything honest
she can do," answered Diana for me; " and you know, St. John,
she has no choice of helpers : she is forced to put up with such
crusty people as you."

"I will be a dressmaker: I will be a plainwork-woman : I
will be a servant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no better," I answered.

" Right," said Mr. St. John, quite coolly. " If such is your
spirit, 1 promise to aid you ; in my own time and way."

294 JANE EYRE.

He now resumed the book with which he had been occupied
before tea. I soon withdrew ; for I had talked as much, and sat
up as long, as my present strength would permit.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE more I knew of the inmates of Moor House the better I
liked them. In a few days I had so far recovered my
health that I could sit up all day, and walk out sometimes. I
could join with Diana and Mary in all their occupations; con-
verse with them as much as they wished, and aid them when and
where they would allow me. There was a reviving pleasure in
this intercourse, of a kind now tasted by me for the first time —
the pleasure arising from perfect congeniality of tastes, senti-
ments, and principles.

I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed,
delighted me ; what they approved, I reverenced. They loved
their sequestered home. I, too, in the grey, small, antique
structure, with its low roof, its latticed casements, its mouldering
walls, its avenue of aged firs — all grown aslant under the stress
of mountain winds; its garden, dark with yew and holly — and
where no flowers but of the hardiest species would bloom — found
a charm both potent and permanent. They clung to the purple
moors behind and around their dwelling — to the hollow vale into
which the pebbly bridle-path leading from their gate descended ;
and which wound between fern-banks first, and then amongst a
few of the wildest little pasture-fields that ever bordered a wilder-
ness of heath, or gave sustenance to a flock of grey moorland
sheep, with their little mossy-faced lambs : they clung to this
scene, I say, with a perfect enthusiasm of attachment. I could
comprehend the feeling, and share both its strength and truth.
I saw the fascination of the locality. I felt the consecration of
its loneliness : my eye feasted on the outline of swell and sweep
— on the wild colouring communicated to ridge and dell, by
moss, by heathbell, by flower-sprinkled turf, by brilliant bracken,
and mellow granite crag. These details were just to me what
they were to them — so many pure and sweet sources of pleasure.
The strong blast and the soft breeze ; the rough and the halcyon
day ; the hours of sunrise and sunset ; the moonlight and the
clouded i»*ght, developed for me, in these regions, the same
attraction as for them — wound round my faculties the same spell
that entranced theirs.

Indoors we agreed equally well. They were both more accom-
plished and better read than I was, but with eagerness I followed

JANE EYRE. 295

in the path of knowledge they had trodden before me. I devoured
the books they lent me : then it was full satisfaction to discuss
with them in the evening what I had purused during the day.
Thought fitted thought ; opinion met opinion : we coincided, in
short, perfectly.

If in our trio there was a superior and a leader, it was Diana.
Physically, she far excelled me : she was handsome : she was
vigorous. In her animal spirits there was an affluence of life,
and certainty of flow, such as excited my wonder, while it baffled
my comprehension. I could talk awhile when the evening com-
menced : but the first gush of vivacity and fluency gone, I was
fain to sit on a stool at Diana's feet, to rest my head on her knee,
and listen alternately to her and Mary; while they sounded
thoroughly the topic on which I had but touched. Diana offered
to teach me German. I liked to learn of her: I saw the part of
instructress pleased and suited her ; that of scholar pleased and
suited me no less. Our natures dovetailed : mutual affection— of
the strongest kind — was the result. They discovered I could
draw: their pencils and colour-boxes were immediately at my
service. My skill, greater in this one point than theirs, surprised
and charmed them. Mary would sit and watch me by the hour
together : then she would take lessons ; and a docile, intelligent,
assiduous pupil she made. Thus occupied, and mutually enter-
tained, days passed like hours and weeks like days.

As to Mr. St. John, the intimacy which had arisen so naturally
and rapidly between me and his sisters did not extend to him.
One reason of the distance yet observed between us was, that he
was comparatively seldom at home: a large proportion of his
time appeared devoted to visiting the sick and poor among the
scattered population of his parish.

No weather seemed to hinder him in these pastoral excursions :
rain or fair, he would, when his hours of morning study were
over, take his hat, and, followed by his father's old pointer,
Carlo, go out on his mission of love or duty — I scarcely know in
which light he regarded it. Sometimes, when the day was very
unfavourable, his sisters would expostulate. He would then say,
with a peculiar smile, more solemn than cheerful — "And if I let
a gust of wind or a sprinkling of rain turn me aside from these
easy tasks, what preparation would such sloth be for the future I
propose to myself?"

Diana and Mary's general answer to this question was a sigh
and some minutes of apparently mournful meditation.

But besides his frequent absences, there was another barrier to
friendship with him : he seemed of a reserved, an abstracted,
and even of a brooding nature. Zealous in his ministerial
labours, blameless in his life and habits, he yet did not appear to
enjoy that mental serenity, that inward content, which should be
the reward of every sincere Christian and practical philanthropist.
Often, of an evening, when he sat at the window, his desk and
papers before him, he would cease reading or writing, rest his

296

JANE EYRE,

chin on his hand, and deliver himself up to I know not what
course of thought : but that it was perturbed and exciting might
be seen in the frequent flash and changeful dilation of his eye.

I think, moreover, that Nature was not to him that treasury of
delight it was to his sisters. He expressed once, and but once in
my hearing, a strong sense of the rugged charm of the hills, and
an inborn affection for the dark roof and hoary walls he called
his home : but there was more of gloom than pleasure in the
tone and words in which the sentiment was manifested ; and
never did he seem to roam the moors for the sake of their sooth-
ing silence — never seek out or dwell upon the thousand peaceful
delights they could yield.

Incommunicative as he was, some time elapsed before I had
an opportunity of guaging his mind. I first got an idea of its
calibre when I heard him preach in his own church at Morton.
I wish I could describe that sermon : but it is past my power. I
cannot even render faithfully the effect it produced on me.

It began calm — and indeed, as far as delivery and pitch of
voice went, it was calm to the end : and earnestly felt, yet
strictly restrained zeal breathed soon in the distinct accents, and
prompted the nervous language. This grew to force— com-
pressed, condensed, controlled. The heart was thrilled, the
mind astonished, by the power of the preacher: neither were
softened. Throughout there was a strange bitterness ; an
absence of consolatory gentleness ; stern allusions to Calvinistic
doctrines — election, predestination, reprobation — were frequent;
and each reference to these points sounded like a sentence pro-
nounced for doom. When he had done, instead of feeling better,
calmer, more enlightened by his discourse, I experienced an
inexpressible sadness ; for it seemed to me — I know not whether
equally so to others — that the eloquence to which I had been
listening had sprung from a depth where lay turbid dregs of
disappointment — where moved troubling impulses of insatiate
yearnings and disquieting aspirations. I was sure St. John
Rivers — pure-lived, conscientious, zealous as he was — had not
yet found that peace of God which passeth all understanding : he
had no more found it, I thought, than had I ; with my concealed
and racking regrets for my broken idol and lost elysium — regrets
to which I have latterly avoided referring ; but which possessed
me and tyrannised over me ruthlessly.

Meantime a month was gone. Diana and Mary were soon to
leave Moor House, and return to the far different life and scene
which awaited them, as governesses in a large, fashionable,
south-of-England city ; where each held a situation in families,
by whose wealthy and haughty members they were regarded only
as humble dependents, and who neither knew nor sought one of
their innate excellences, and apprciated only their acquired
accomplishments as they appreciated the skill of their cook, or
the taste of their waiting- worn an. Mr. St. John had said nothing
to me yet about the employment he had promised to obtain for

JANE EYRE. 297

me ; yet it became urgent that I should have a vocation of some
kind. One morning, being left alone with him a few minutes in
the parlour, I ventured to approach the window-recess— which his
table, chair, and desk consecrated as a kind of study — and I was
going to speak ; though not very well knowing in what words to
frame my inquiry— for it is at all times difficult to break the ice
of reserve glassing over such natures as his — when he saved me
the trouble, by being the first to commence a dialogue.

Looking up as I drew near— "You have a question to ask
of me?" he said.

" Yes ; I wish to know whether you have heard of any service
I can offer myself to undertake."

"I found or devised something for you three weeks ago; but
as you seemed both useful and happy here— as my sisters had
evidently become attached to you, and your society gave them
unusual pleasure — I deemed it inexpedient to break in on your
mutual comfort till their approaching departure from Marsh End
should render yours necessary."

"And they will go in three days now?" I said.

"Yes; and when they go I shall return to the parsonage at
Morton : Hannah will accompany me ; and this old house will be
shut up."

I waited a few moments, expecting he would go on with the
subject first broached : but he seemed to have entered another
train of reflection : his look denoted abstraction from me and my
business. I was obliged to recall him to a theme which was of
necessity one of close and anxious interest to me.

"What is the employment you had in view, Mr. Rivers? I
hope this delay will not have increased the difficulty of securing
it."

"Oh, no; since it is an employment which depends only on
me to give and you to accept."

He again paused : there seemed a reluctance to continue. I
grew impatient : a restless movement or two, and an eager and
exacting glance fastened on his face, conveyed the feeling to him
as effectually as words could have done, and with less trouble.

" You need be in no hurry to hear," he said: " let me frankly
tell you, I have nothing eligible or profitable to suggest. Before
I explain, recall, if you please my notice, clearly given, that
if I helped you, it must be as the blind man would help the
lame. I am poor ; for I find that when I have paid my father's
debts, all the patrimony remaining to me will be this crumbling
grange, the row of scathed firs behind, and the patch of moorish
soil, with the yew-trees and hollv-bushes in front. I am obscure :
Rivers is an old name ; but of the three sole descendants of the
race, two earn the dependent's crust among strangers, and the
third considers himselt an alien from his native country^not only
for life, but in death. Yes, and deems, and is bound to deem,
himself honoured by the lot, and aspires but after the day when
the cross of separation from fleshly ties shall be laid on his

298

JANE EYRE

shoulders, and when the Head of that church-militant of whose
humblest members he is one, shall give the word, ' Rise, follow
me!'"

St. John said these words as he pronounced his sermons, with
a quiet, deep voice ; with an unflushed cheek, and a coruscating
radiance of glance. He resumed :

"And since I am myself poor and obscure, I can offer you but
a service of poverty and obscurity. You may even think it
degrading — for I see now your habits have been what the world
calls refined : your tastes lean to the ideal ; and your society has
at least been amongst the educated — but /consider that no ser-
vice degrades which can better our race. I hold that the more
arid and unreclaimed the soil where the Christian labourer's task
of tillage is appointed him— the scantier the meed his toil brings
— the higher the honour. His, under such circumstances, is the
destiny of the pioneer ; and the first pioneers of the Gospel were
the Apostles — their captain was Jesus, the Redeemer, himself."

"Well?" I said, as he again paused — "proceed."

He looked at me before he proceeded : indeed, he seemed
leisurely to read my face, as if its features and lines were charac-
ters on a page. The conclusions drawn from this scrutiny he
partially expressed in his succeeding observations.

" I believe you will accept the post I offer you," said he ; " and
hold it for awhile : not permanently, though : any more than I
could permanently keep the narrow and narrowing— the tranquil,
hidden office of English country incumbent : for in your nature is
an alloy as detrimental to repose as that in mine ; though of a
different kind."

" Do explain," I urged, when he halted once more.

"I will; and you shall hear how poor the proposal is— how
trivial — how cramping. I shall not stay long at Morton, now
that my father is dead, and that I am my own master. I shall
leave the place probably in the course of a twelvemonth : but
while I do stay, 1 will exert myself to the utmost for its improve-
ment. Morton, when I came to it two years ago, had no school :
the children of the poor were excluded from every hope of pro-
gress. I established one for boys ; I mean now to open a second
school for girls. I have hired a building for the purpose, with a
cottage of two rooms attached to it for the mistress's house.
Her salary will be thirty pounds a year : her house is already
furnished, very simply but sufficiently, by the kindness of a lady,
Miss Oliver; the only daughter of the sole rich man in my
parish — Mr. Oliver, the proprietor of a needle-factory and iron-
foundry in the valley. The same lady pays for the education and
clothing of an orphan from the workhouse ; on condition that she
shall aid the mistress in such menial offices connected with her
own house and the school, as her occupation of teaching will
prevent her having time to discharge in person. Will you be
this mistress?"

He put the question rather hurriedly ; he seemed half to expect

JANE EYRE. 299

an indignant, or at least a disdainful rejection of the offer : not
knowing all ray thoughts and feelings, though guessing some, lie
could not tell in what light the lot would appear to me. In truth
it was humble— but then it was sheltered, and I wanted a safe
asylum: it was plodding — but then, compared with that of a
governess in a rich house, it was independent ; and the fear of
servitude with strangers entered my soul like iron : it was not
ignoble— not unworthy— not mentally degrading. I made my
decision.

" I thank you for the proposal, Mr. Rivers : and I accept it
with all my heart."

" But you comprehend me ?" he said. " It is a village school :
your scholars will be only poor jprls— cottagers' children — at the
best, farmers' daughters. Knitting, sewing, reading, writing,
ciphering, will be all you will have to teach. What will you do
with your accomplishments ? What with the largest portion of
your mind— sentiments— tastes?"

" Save them till they are wanted. They will keep."

" You know what you undertake, then ?"

"I do."

He now smiled : and not a bitter or a sad smile ; but one well
pleased and deeply gratified.

" And when will you commence the exercise of vour function ?"

" I will go to my house to-morrow; and open the school, if you
like, next week."

"Very well: so be it."

He rose and walked through the room. Standing still, he
again looked at me. He shook his head.

"What do you disapprove of, Mr. Rivers?" I asked.

"You will not stay at Morton long: no, no !"

" Why 1 What is your reason for saying so ?"

" I read it in your eye ; it is not of that description which
promises the maintenance of an even tenor in life."

" I am not ambitious."

He started at the word "ambitious." He repeated, "No.
What made you think of ambition ? Who is ambitious ? I know
I am : but how did you find it out ?"

" I was speaking of myself."

" Well, if you are not ambitious, you are " He paused.

"What?"

"I was going to say, impassioned; but perhaps you would
have misunderstood the word, and been displeased. I mean,
that human affections and sympathies have a most powerful
hold on you. I am sure you cannot long be content to pass
your leisure in solitude, and to devote your working hours to a
monotonous labour wholly void of stimulus ; any more than I
can be content," he added, with emphasis, "to live here buried
in morass, pent in with mountain— my nature, that God gave
me, contravened; my faculties, heaven -bestowed, paralysed —
made useless. You hear now how I contradict myself. I, who

300 JANE EYRE.

preached contentment with a humble lot, and justified the voca-
tion even of hewers of wood, and drawers of water, in God's
service — I, his ordained minister, almost rave in my restlessness.
Well, propensities and principles must be reconciled by some
means."

He left the room. In this brief hour I had learnt more of him
than in the whole previous month : yet still he puzzled me.

Diana and Mary Rivers became more sad and silent as the
day approached for leaving their brother and their home. They
both tried to appear as usual ; but the sorrow they had to
struggle against was one that could not be entirely conquered
or concealed. Diana intimated that this would be a different
parting from any they had ever yet known. It would probably,
as far as St. John was concerned, be a parting for years: it
might be a parting for life.

" He will sacrifice all to his long-framed resolves," she said :
"natural affection and feelings more potent still. St. John
looks quiet, Jane ; but he hides a fever in his vitals. You would
think him gentle, yet in some things he is inexorable as death ;
and the worst of it is, my conscience will hardly permit me to
dissuade him from his severe decision : certainly, I cannot for a
moment blame him for it. It is right, noble, Christian : yet it
breaks my heart." And the tears gushed to her fine eyes.
Mary bent her head low over her work.

" We are now without father : we shall soon be without home
and brother," she murmured.

At that moment a little accident supervened, which seemed
decreed by fate purposely to prove the truth of the adage, that
"misfortunes never come singly:" and to add to their distresses
the vexing one of the slip between the cup and the lip. St. John
passed the window reading a letter. He entered.

" Our uncle John is dead," said he.
^ Both the sisters seemed struck : not shocked or appalled ; the
tidings appeared in their eyes rather momentous than afflicting.

"Dead?" repeated Diana.

"Yes."

She riveted a searching gaze on her brother's face. "And
what then ?" she demanded, in a low voice.

"What then, Di ?" he replied, maintaining a marble immo-
bility of feature. "What then? Why — nothing. Read."

He threw the letter into her lap. She glanced over it, and
handed it to Mary. Mary perused it in silence, and returned it
to her brother. All three looked at each other, and all three
smiled— r-a dreary, pensive smile enough.

"Amen ! We can yet live," said Diana, at last.

" At any rate, it makes us no worse off than we were before,"
remarked Mary.

" Only it forces rather strongly on the mind the picture of
what might have been" said Mr. Rivers; "and contrasts it
somewhat too vividly with what i>."

JANE EYRE. 301

He folded the letter, locked it in his desk, and again went out.

For some minutes no one spoke. Diana then turned to me.

" Jane, you will wonder at us and our mysteries," she said;
"and think us hard-hearted beings not to be moved at the
death of so near a relation as an uncle ; but we have never seen
him or "known him. He was my mother's brother. My father
and he quarrelled long ago. It was by his advice that my father
risked most of his property in the speculation that ruined him.
Mutual recrimination passed between them : they parted in
anger, and were never reconciled. ' My uncle engaged after-
wards in more prosperous undertakings; it appears he
realised a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. He was never
married, and had no near kindred but ourselves and one other
person, not more closely related than we. My father always
cherished the idea that he would atone for his error, by leaving
his possessions to us; that letter informs us that he has
bequeathed every penny to the other relation ; with the excep-
tion of thirty guineas, to be divided between St. John, Diana and
Mary Rivers, for the purchase of three mourning rings. He had
a right, of course, to do as he pleased : and yet a momentary
damp is cast on the spirits by the receipt of such news. Mary
and I would have esteemed ourselves rich with a thousand
pounds each: and to St. John such a sum would have been
valuable, for the good it would have enabled him to do."

This explanation given, the subject was dropped, and no
further reference made to it, by either Mr. Rivers or his sisters.
The next day, I left Marsh End for Morton. The day after,

Diana and Mary quitted it for distant B . In a week, Mr.

Rivers and Hannah repaired to the parsonage : and so the old
grange was abandoned.

CHAPTER XXXI.

MY home, then— when I at last find a home— is a cottage :
a little room with whitewashed walls, and a sanded floor;
containing four painted chairs and a table, a clock, a cupboard,
with two or three plates and dishes, and a set of tea-things in
delf. Above, a chamber of the same dimensions as the kitchen,
with a deal bedstead, and chest of drawers ; small, yet too large
to be filled with my scanty wardrobe : though the kindness of my
gentle and generous friends has increased that by a modest stock
of such things as are necessary.

It is evening. I have dismissed, with the fee of an orange, the
little orphan who serves me as a handmaid. I am sitting alone
on the hearth. This morning, the village-school opened. I had
twenty scholars. But three of the number can read : none write
or cipher. Several knit, and a few sew a little. They speak

302 JANE EYRE.

with the broadest accent of the district. At present, they and I
have a difficulty in understanding each other's language. Some
of them are unmannered, rough, intractable, as well as ignorant;
but others are docile, have a wish to learn, and evince a disposi-
tion that pleases me. I must not forget that these coarsely clad
little peasants are of flesh and blood as good as the scions of
gentlest genealogy; and that the germs of native excellence,
refinement, intelligence, kind feeling, are as likely to exist in
their hearts as in those of the best-born. My duty will be to
develop these germs : surely I shall find some happiness in dis-
charging that office. Much enjoyment I do not expect in the life
opening before me : yet it will, doubtless, if I regulate my mind,
and exert my powers as I ought, yield me enough to live on from
day to day.

Was I very gleeful, settled, content, during the hours I passed
in yonder bare, humble school-room this morning and afternoon ?
Not to deceive myself, I must reply — No : I felt desolate to a
degree. I felt — yes, idiot that I am — I felt degraded. I
doubted I had taken a step which sank instead of raising me
in the scale of social existence. I was weakly dismayed at the
ignorance, the poverty, the coarseness of all I heard and saw
round me. But let me not hate and despise myself too much for
these feelings : I know them to be wrong — that is a great step
gained; I shall strive to overcome them. To-morrow, I trust, I
shall get the better of them partially ; and in a few weeks, per-
haps, they will be quite subdued. In a few months, it is possible,
the happiness of seeing progress, and a change for the better in
my scholars, may substitute gratification for disgust.

Meantime, let me ask myself one question — Which is better?
To have surrendered to temptation ; listened to passion ; made
no painful effort — no struggle; but to have sunk down in the
silken snare ; fallen asleep on the flowers covering it ; wakened
in a southern clime, amongst the luxuries of a pleasure villa : to
have been now living in France, Mr. Rochester's mistress:
delirious with his love half my time — for he would — oh, yes, he
would have loved me well for awhile. He did love me — no one
will ever love me so again. I shall never more know the sweet
homage given to beauty, youth, and grace— for never to any else
shall I seem to possess these charms. He was fond and proud
of me — it is what no man besides will ever be. But where am
I wandering, and what am I saying; and above all feeling?
Whether is it better, I ask, to be a slave in a fool's paradise at
Marseilles — fevered with delusive bliss one hour — suffocating
with the bitterest tears of remorse and shame the next — or to be
a village-schoolmistress, free and honest, in a breezy mountain
nook in the healthy heart of England ?

Yes ; I feel now that I was right when I adhered to principle
and law, and scorned and crushed the insane promptings of a
frenzied moment. God directed me to a correct choice :" I thank
His providence for the guidance !

JANE EYRE. 303

Having brought my eventide musings to this point, I rose, went
to my door, and looked at the sunset of the harvest-day, and at
the quiet fields before my cottage ; which, with the school, was
distant half a mile from the village. The birds were singing
their last strains —

. "The air was mild ; the dew was balm."

While I looked, I thought myself happy, and was surprised to
find myself ere long weeping — and why t For the doom which
had reft me from adhesion to my master: for him I was no
more to see ; for the desperate grief and fatal fury — consequences
of my departure — which might now, perhaps, be dragging him
from the path of right, too far to leave hope of ultimate restora-
tion thither. At this thought I turned my face aside from the
lovely sky of eve and lonely vale of Morton— I say lonely, for in
that bend of it visible to me there was no building apparent
save the church and the parsonage, half hid in trees ; and quite
at the extremity, the roof of Vale Hall, where the rich Mr.
Oliver and his daughter lived. I hid my eyes, and leant my
head against the stone frame of my door; but soon a slight
noise near the wicket which shut in my tiny garden from the
meadow beyond it, made me look up. A dog — old Carlo, Mr.
Rivers' pointer, as I saw in a moment— was pushing the gate
with his nose, and St. John himself leant upon it with folded
arms ; his brow knit, his gaze, grave almost to displeasure, fixed
on me. I asked him to come in.

"No, I cannot stay: 1 have only brought you a little parcel
my sisters left for you. I think it contains a colour box, pencils,
and paper."

I approached to take it : a welcome gift it was. He examined
my face, I thought, with austerity, as 1 came near; the traces of
tears were doubtless very visible upon it.

" Have you found your day's work harder than you expected ?"
he asked.

"Oh, nol on the contrary, I think in time I shall get on with
my scholars very well."

"But perhaps your accommodations — your cottage— your
furniture — have disappointed your expectations? They arc, in
truth, scanty enough ; but I interrupted :

" My cottage is clean and weather-proof: my furniture
sufficient and commodious. All I see has made me thankful, not
despondent. I am not absolutely such a fool and sensualist as
to regret the absence of a carpet, a sofa, and silver plate :
besides, five weeks ago I had nothing — I was an outcast, a
beggar, a vagrant ; and now I have acquaintance, a home, a
business. I wonder at the goodness of uod; the generosity of
my friends ; the bounty of my lot. I do not repine."

" But you foel solitude an oppression? The little house there
behind you is dark and empty.

304 JANE EYRE.

" I have hardly had time yet to enjoy a sense of tranquillity,
much less to grow impatient under one of loneliness."

" Very well ; I hope you feel the content you express : at any
rate, your good sense will tell you that it is too soon yet to yield
to the vacillating fears of Lot's wife. What you had left before
I saw you, of course I do not know ; but I counsel you to resist,
firmly, every temptation which would incline you to look back:'
pursue your present career steadily, for some months at least."

" It is what I mean to do," 1 answered. St. John continued :

" It is hard work to control the workings of inclination, and
turn the bent of nature : but that it may be done, I know from
experience. God has given us, in a measure the power to make
our own fate ; and when our energies seem to demand a susten-
ance they cannot get — when our will strains after a path we may
not follow — we need neither starve from inanition, nor stand still
in despair : we have but to seek another nourishment for the
mind, as strong as the forbidden food it longed to taste — and
perhaps purer ; and to hew out for the adventurous foot a road as
direct and broad as the one Fortune has blocked up against us,
if rougher than it.

"A year ago I was myself intensely miserable, because 1
thought I had made a mistake in entering the ministry : its
uniform duties wearied me to death. I burnt for the more active
life of the world — for the more exciting toils of a literary career —
for the destiny of an artist, author, orator ; anything rather than
that of a priest : yes, the heart of a politician, of a soldier, of a
votary of glory, a lover of renown, a luster after power, beat
under my curate's surplice. I considered; my life was so
wretched, it must be changed or I must die. After a season of
darkness and struggling, light broke and relief fell : my cramped
existence all at once spread out to a plain without bounds — my
powers heard a call from heaven to rise, gather their full strength,
spread their wings, and mount beyond ken. Gpd had an errand
for me ; to bear which afar, to deliver it well, skill and strength,
courage and eloquence, the best qualifications of soldier, states-
man, and orator, were all needed: for these all centre in the
good missionary.

"A missionary I resolved to be. From that moment my state
of mind changed ; the fetters dissolved and dropped from every
faculty, leaving nothing of bondage but its galling soreness — which
time only can heal. My father, indeed, opposed the determina-
tion, but since his death I have not a legitimate obstacle to con-
tend with : some affairs settled, a successor for Morton provided,
an entanglement or two of the feelings broken through or cut
asunder — a last conflict with human weakness, in which I know
I shall overcome, because I have vowed that I will overcome —
and I leave Europe for the East."

He said this in his peculiar, subdued, yet emphatic voice;
looking, when he had ceased speaking, not at me, but at the
setting sun, at which I looked too. Both he and I had our backs

JANE EYRE. 305

towards the path leading up the field to the wicket. We had
heard no step on that grass-grown track ; the water running in
the vale was the one lulling sound of the hour and scene ; we
might well then start when a gay voice, sweet as a silver bell,
exclaimed :

"Good-evening, Mr. Rivers. And ^ood-evening, old Carlo.
Your dog is quicker to recognise his fnends than you are, sir ;
he pricked his ears and wagged his tail when I was at the bottom
of the field, and you have your back towards me now."

It was true. Though Mr. Rivers had started at the first of
those musical accents, as if a thunderbolt had split a cloud over
his head, he stood yet, at the close of the sentence, in the same
attitude in which the speaker had surprised him — his arm resting
on the gate, his face directed towaras the west. He turned at
last, with measured deliberation. A vision, as it seemed to me,
had risen at his side. There appeared, within three feet of him,
a form clad in pure white — a youthful, graceful form : full, yet
fine in contour; and when, after bending to caress Carlo, it lifted
up its head, and threw back a long veil, there bloomed under his
glance a face of perfect beauty. Perfect beauty is a strong
expression ; but I do not retrace or qualify it : as sweet features
as ever the temperate clime of Albion moulded; as pure hues of
rose and lily as ever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated
and screened, justified in this instance, the term. No charm
was wanting, no defect was perceptible; the young girl had
regular and delicate lineaments; eyes shaped and coloured as
we see them in lovely pictures, large, and dark, and full ; the
long and shadowy eyelash which encircles a fine eye with so soft
a fascination; the pencilled brow which gives such clearness;
the white, smooth forehead which adds such repose to the livelier
beauties of tint and ray ; the cheek, oval, fresh and smooth ; the
lips, fresh too, ruddy, healthy, sweetly formed; the even and
gleaming teeth without flaw; the small dimpled chin; the
ornament of rich, plenteous tresses — all advantages, in short,
which, combined, realise the ideal of beauty, were fully hers. I
wondered, as I looked at this fair creature : I admired her with
my whole heart. Nature had surely formed her in a partial
mood ; and, forgetting her usual stinted stepmother dole of gifts,
had endowed this, her darling, with a granddame's bounty.

What did St. John Rivers think of this earthly angel? I
naturally asked myself that question as I saw him turn to her and
look at her; and, as naturally, I sought the answer to the inquiry
in his countenance. He had already withdrawn his eye from the
Peri, and was looking at a humble tuft of daisies which grew by
the wicket.

"A lovely evening, but late for you to be out alone," he said,
as he crushed the snowy heads of the closed (lowers with his
foot.

" Oh, I only came home from S-; — " (she mentioned the name
of a large town some twenty miles distant) "this afternoon.

T

306 JANE EYRE.

Papa told me you had opened your school, and that the new
mistress was come ; and so I put on my bonnet after tea, and ran
up the valley to see her : this is she ?" pointing to me.

"It is," said St. John.

" Do you think you shall like Morton ?" she asked of me, with
a direct and naive simplicity of tone and manner, pleasing, if
child-like.

" I hope I shall. I have many inducements to do so."

" Did you find your scholars as attentive as you expected ?"

"Quite."

" Do you like your house ?"

"Very much."

" Have I furnished it nicely ?"

"Very nicely, indeed."

"And made a good choice of an attendant for you in Alice
Wood?"

"You have, indeed. She is teachable and handy." (This,
then, I thought, is Miss Oliver, the heiress ; favoured, it seems,
in the gifts of fortune as well as those of nature ! What happy
combination of the planets presided over her birth, I wonder ?)

"I shall come up and help you to teach sometimes," she
added. " It will be a change for me to visit you now and then ;
and I like a change. Mr. Rivers, I have been so gay during my

stay at S . Last night, or rather this morning, I was dancing

till two o'clock. The — th regiment are stationed there since the
riots ; and the officers are the most agreeable men in the world :
they put all our young knife-grinders and scissor merchants to
shame."

It seemed to me that Mr. St. John's under lip protruded, and
his upper lip curled a moment. His mouth certainly looked a
good deal compressed, and the lower part of his face unusually
stern and square, as the laughing girl gave him this information.
He lifted his gaze, too, from the daisies, and turned it on her.
An unsmiling, a searching, a meaning gaze it was. She
answered it with a second laugh, and laughter well became her
youth, her roses, her dimples, her bright eyes.

As he stood, mute and grave, she again fell to caressing Carlo.
" Poor Carlo loves me," said she. " He is not stern and distant
to his friends ; and if he could speak, he would not be silent."

As she patted the dog's head, bending with native grace
before his young and austere master, I saw a glow rise to that
master's face. I saw his solemn eye melt with sudden fire and
flicker with resistless emotion. Flushed and kindled thus, he
looked nearly as beautiful for a man as she for a woman. His
chest heaved once, as if his large heart, weary of despotic con-
striction, had expanded, despite the will, and made a vigorous
bound for the attainment of liberty. But he curbed it, I think,
asa resolute rider would curb a rearing steed. He responded
neither by word nor movement to the gentle advances made him.

" Papa says you never come to see us now," continued Miss

JANE EYRE. 307

Oliver, looking up. "You are quite a stranger at Vale Hall.
He is alone this evening, and not very well : will you return with
me and visit him?"

"It is not a seasonable hour to intrude on Mr. Oliver,"
answered St. John.

" Not a seasonable hour ! But, I declare, it is. It is just the
hour when papa most wants company: when the works are
closed, and he has no business to occupy him. Now, Mr. Rivfcrs,
do come. Why are you so very shy, and so very sombre ?" She
filled up the hiatus his silence left by a reply of her own.

" I forgot I" she exclaimed, shaking her beautiful curled head,
as if shocked at herself. " I am so giddy and thoughtless ! Do
excuse me. It had slipped my memory that you had good
reasons to be indisposed for joining in my chatter. Diana and
Mary have left you, and Moor House is shut up, and you are so
lonely. I am sure I pity you. Do come aud see papa."

"Not to-night, Miss Rosamond, not to-night."

Mr. St. John spoke almost like an automaton: himself only
knew the effort it cost him thus to refuse.

"Well if you are so obstinate I will leave you ; for I dare not
stay any longer : the dew begins to fall. Good-evening !"

She held out her hand. He just touched it. " Good-evening !"
he repeated, in a voice low and hollow as an echo. She turned ;
but in a moment returned.

"Are you well?" she asked. Well might she put the
question : his face was blanched as her gown.

"Quite well," he enunciated; and, with a bow, he left the
gate. She went one way ; he another. She turned twice to gaze
after him, as she tripped fairy-like down the field; he, as he
strode firmly across, never turned at all.

This spectacle of another's suffering and sacrifice rapt my
thoughts from exclusive meditation on my own. Diana Rivers
had designated her brother "inexorable as death." She had
not exaggerated.

CHAPTER XXXII.

I CONTINUED the labours of the village school as actively
and faithfully as I could. It was truly hard work at first.
Some time elapsed before, with all my efforts, I could compre-
hend my scholars and their nature. Wholly untaught, with
faculties quite torpid, they seemed to me hopelessly dull ; and,
at first sight, all dull alike : but I soon found I was mistaken.
There was a difference amongst them as amongst the educated ;
and when I got to know them, and they me, this difference

308 JANE EYRE.

rapidly developed itself. Their amazement at me, my language,
my rules, and ways, once subsided, I found some of these heavy-
looking, gaping rustics wake up into sharp-witted girls enough.
Many showed themselves obliging, and amiable too ; and I dis-
covered amongst them not a few examples of natural politeness,
and innate self-respect, as well as of excellent capacity, that won
both my goodwill and my admiration. These soon took a plea-
sure in doing their work well ; in keeping their persons neat ; in
learning their tasks regularly; in acquiring quiet and orderly
manners. The rapidity of their progress, in some instances, was
even surprising : and an honest and happy pride I took in it :
besides, I began personally to like some of the best girls ; and
they liked me. I had amongst my scholars several farmers'
daughters : young women grown, almost. These could already
read, write, and sew; and to them I taught the elements of
grammar, geography, history, and the finer kinds of needlework.
I found estimable characters amongst them — characters desirous
of information, and disposed for improvement — with whom I
passed many a pleasant evening hour in their own homes. Their
parents then (the farmer and his wife) loaded me with attentions.
There was an enjoyment in accepting their simple kindness, and
in repaying it by a consideration — a scrupulous regard to their
feelings — to which they were not, perhaps, at all times accus-
tomed, and which both charmed and benefited them ; because,
while it elevated them in their own eyes, it made them emulous
to merit the deferential treatment they received.

I felt I became a favourite in the neighbourhood. Whenever I
went out I heard on all sides cordial salutations, and was wel-
comed with friendly smiles. To live amidst general regard,
though it be but the regard of working-people, is like " sitting in
sunshine, calm and sweet:" serene inward feelings bud and
bloom under the ray. At this period of my life, my heart far
oftener swelled with thankfulness than sank with dejection : and
yet, reader, to tell you all, in the midst of this calm, this useful
existence — after a day passed in honourable exertion amongst
my scholars; an evening spent in drawing or reading contentedly
alone — I used to rush into strange dreams at night: dreams
many-coloured, agitated, full of the ideal, the stirring, the stormy
— dreams where, amidst unusual scenes, charged with adventure,
with agitating risk and romantic chance, I still again and again
met Mr. Rochester, always at some exciting crisis; and then
the sense of being in his arms, hearing his voice, meeting his eye,
touching his hand and cheek, loving him, being loved by him —
the hope of passing a lifetime at his side, would be renewed with
all its first force and fire. Then I awoke. Then I recalled where
I was, and how situated. Then I rose up on my curtainless bed,
trembling and quivering ; and then the still, dark night witnessed
the convulsion of despair, and heard the burst of passion. By
nine o'clock the next morning I was punctually opening the

JANE EYRE. 309

school ; tranquil, settled, prepared for the steady duties of the
day.

Rosamond Oliver kept her word in coming to visit me. Her
call at the school was generally made in the course of her morn-
ing ride. She would canter up to the door on her pony, followed
by a mounted livery servant. Anything more exquisite than her
appearance, in her purple habit, with her Amazon's can of black
velvet placed gracefully above the long curls that kissed her
cheek and floated to her shoulders, can scarcely be imagined:
and it was thus she would enter the rustic building, and glide
through the dazzled ranks of the village children. She generally
came at the hour when Mr. Rivers was engaged in giving his
daily catechising lesson. Keenly, I fear, did the eye of the
visitress pierce the young pastor's heart. A sort of instinct
seemed to warn him of her entrance, even when he did not see
it ; and when he was looking quite away from the door, if she
appeared at it, his cheek woula glow, and his marble-seeming
features, though they refused to relax, changed indescribably;
and in their very quiescence became expressive of a repressed
fervour, stronger than working muscle or darting glance could
indicate.

Of course, she knew her power : indeed, he did not, because
he could not, conceal it from her. In spite of his Christian
stoicism, when she went up and addressed him, and smiled
gaily, encouragingly, even fondly in his face, his hand would
tremble, and his eye burn. He seemed to say, with his sad and
resolute look, if he did not say with his lips, " I love you, and I
know you prefer me. It is not despair of success that keeps me
dumb. It I offered my heart, I believe you would accept it.
But that heart is already laid on a sacred altar: the tire is
arranged round it. It will soon be no more than a sacrifice con-
sumed."

And then she would pout like a disappointed child ; a pensive
cloud would soften her radiant vivacity ; she would withdraw her
hand hastily from his, and turn in transient petulance from his
aspect, at once so heroic and so martyr-like. St. John, no
doubt, would have given the world to follow, recall, retain, her,
when she thus left him ; but he would not give one chance of
heaven ; nor relinquish, for the elysium of her love, one hope of
the true, eternal Paradise. Besides, he could not bound all that
he had in his nature — the rover, the aspirant, the poet, the priest
— in the limits of a single passion. He could not— he would not
— renounce his wild field of mission warfare for the parlours and
the peace of Vale Hall. I learnt so much from himself, in an
inroad I once, despite his reserve, had the daring to make on his
confidence.

Miss Oliver already honoured me with frequent visits to my
cottage. I had learned her whole character ; which was without
mystery or disguise: she was coquettish, but not heartless;
exacting, but not worthlessly selfish. She had been indulged

310 JANE EYRE..

from her birth, but was not absolutely spoilt. She was hasty,
but good-humoured; vain (she could not help it, when every
glance in the glass showed her such a flush of loveliness,) but
not affected ; liberal-handed ; innocent of the pride of wealth ;
ingenuous ; sufficiently intelligent ; . gay, lively, and unthinking :
she was very charming, in short, even to a cool observer of her
own sex like me ; but she was not profoundly interesting or
thoroughly impressive. A very different sort of mind was hers
from that, for instance, of the sisters of St. John. Still, I liked
her almost as I liked my pupil Adele ; except that, for a child
whom we have watched over and taught, a closer affection is
engendered than we can give an equally attractive adult
acquaintance.

She had taken an amiable caprice to me. She said I was like
Mr. Rivers (only, certainly, she allowed, "not one-tenth so
handsome, though I was a nice neat little soul enough, but he
was an angel.") I was, however, good, clever, composed, and
firm, like him. I was a lusus naturce, she affirmed, as a village
schoolmistress : she was sure my previous history, if known,
would make a delightful romance.

One evening, while, with her usual child-like activity, and
thoughtless, yet not offensive inquisitiveness, she was rummaging
the cupboard and the table-drawer of my little kitchen, she dis-
covered first two French books, a volume of Schiller, a German
grammar and dictionary; and then my drawing-materials and
some sketches, including a pencil-head of a pretty, little cherub-
like girl, one of my scholars, and sundry views from Nature,
taken in the Vale of Morton and on the surrounding moors.
She was first transfixed with surprise, and then electrified with
delight.

"Had I done these pictures? Did I know French and
German ? What a love — what a miracle I was ! I drew better

than her master in the first school in S . Would I sketch a

portrait of her, to show to papa ?"

" With pleasure," I replied; and I felt a thrill of artist-delight
at the idea of copying from so perfect and radiant a model. She
had then on a dark-blue silk dress ; her arms and her neck were
bare ; her only ornament was her chestnut tresses, which waved
over her shoulders with all the wild grace of natural curls. I took
a sheet of fine card-board, and drew a careful outline. I promised
myself the pleasure of colouring it ; and, as it was getting late
then, I told her she must come and sit another day.

She made such a report of me to her father, that Mr. Oliver
himself accompanied her next evening — a tall, massive-featured,
middle-aged, and grey-headed man, at whose side his lovely
daughter looked like a bright flower near a hoary turret. He
appeared a taciturn, and perhaps a proud personage ; but he was
very kind to me. The sketch of Rosamond's portrait pleased
him highly : he said I must make a finished picture of it. He

JANE EYRE. 311

Insisted, too, on my coming the next day to spend the evening at
Vale Hall.

I went. I found it a large, handsome residence, showing
abundant evidences of wealth in the proprietor. Rosamond was
full of glee and pleasure all the time I stayed. Her father was
affable; and when he entered into conversation with me after
tea, he expressed in strong terms his approbation of what I had
done in Morton school ; and said he only feared, from what he
saw and heard, I was too good for the place, and would soon
quit it for one more suitable.

" Indeed I" cried Rosamond, "she is clever enough to be a
governess in a high family, papa."

I thought — I would far rather be where I am than in any high
family in the land. Mr. Oliver spoke of Mr. Rivers— of the
Rivers family— with 'great respect. He said it was a very old
name in that neighbourhood ; that the ancestors of the house
were wealthy; that all Morton had once belonged to them;
that even now he considered the representative of that house
might, if he liked, make an alliance with the best. He
accounted it a pity that so fine and talented a young man should
have formed the design of going out as a missionary ; it was
quite throwing a valuable life away. It appeared, then, that her
father would throw no obstacle in the way of Rosamond's union
with St. John. Mr. Oliver evidently regarded the young clergy-
man's good birth, old name, and sacred profession, as sufficient
compensation for the want of fortune.

It was the 5th of November, and a holiday. My little servant
after helping me to clean my house, was gone, well satisfied with
the fee of a penny for her aid. All about me was spotless and
bright— scoured floor, polished grate, and well rubbed chairs. I
had also made myself neat, and had now the afternoon before me
to spend as I would.

The translation of a few pages of German occupied an hour ;
then I got my palette and pencils, and fell to the more soothing,
because easier occupation, of completing Rosamond Olivers
miniature. The head was finished already : there was but the
background to tint, and the drapery to shade off; a touch of
carmine, too, to add to the ripe lips — a soft curl here and there
to the tresses — a deeper tinge to the shadow of the lash under
the azured eyelid. I was absorbed in the execution of these nice
details, when, after one rapid tap, my door unclosed, admitting
St. John Rivers.

44 1 am come to see how you are spending your holiday," he
said. "Not, I hope, in thought? No, that is well; while you
draw vou will not feel lonely. You see, I mistrust you still :
though you have borne up wonderfully so far. I have brought
you a book for evening solace," and he laid on the table a new
publication— a poem : one of those genuine productions so often
vouchsafed to the fortunate public of those days— the golden
age of modern literature. Alas I the readers of our era are less

312 JANE EYRE.

favoured. But, courage ! I will not pause either to accuse or
repine. I know poetry is not dead, nor genius lost; nor has
Mammon gained power over either, to bind or slay : they will
both assert their existence, their presence, their liberty and
strength again one day. Powerful angels, safe in heaven ! they
smile when sordid souls triumph, and feeble ones weep over their
destruction. Poetry destroyed? Genius banished? No!
Mediocrity, no: do not let envy prompt you to the thought.
No J they not only live, but reign, and redeem : and without
their divine influence spread everywhere, you would be in hell — ■
the hell of your own meanness.

While I was eagerly glancing at the bright pages of " Mar-
mion " (for " Marmion " it was,) St. John stooped to examine
my drawing. His tall figure sprang erect again with a start.
He said nothing. I looked up at him : he shunned my eye. I
knew his thoughts well, and could read his heart plainly ; at the
moment I felt calmer and cooler than he. I had then tem-
porarily the advantage of him ; and I conceived an inclination
to do him some good, if I could.

_ " With all his firmness and self-control," thought I, "he tasks
himself too far : locks every feeling and pang within — expresses,
confesses, imparts nothing. I am sure it would benefit him to
talk a little about this sweet Rosamond, whom he thinks he
ought not to marry. I will make him talk."

I said first: "Take a chair, Mr. Rivers." But he answered,
as he always did, that he could not stay. "Very well," I
responded mentally, " stand if you like, but you shall not go just
yet, I am determined. Solitude is at least as bad for you as for
me. I'll try if I cannot discover the secret spring of your con-
fidence, and find an aperture in that marble breast, through
which I can shed one drop of the balm of sympathy."

" Is this portrait like ?" I asked bluntly.

" Like ! Like whom ? I did not observe it closely."

"You did, Mr. Rivers."

He almost started at my sudden and strange abruptness : he
looked at me astonished. " Oh, that is nothing yet," I muttered
within. " I don't mean to be baffled by a little stiffness on your
part ; I'm prepared to go to considerable lengths." I continued,
" You observed it closely and distinctly ; but I have no objection
to your looking at it again," and I arose and placed it in his
hand.

"A well-executed picture," he said; "very soft, clear colour-
ing; very graceful and correct drawing."

"Yes, yes; I know all that. But what of the resemblance?
Who is it like ?"

Mastering some hesitation, he answered, " Miss Oliver, I
presume."

" Of course. And now, sir, to reward you for the accurate
guess, I will promise to paint you a careful and faithful duplicate
of this very picture, provided you admit that the gift would be

JANE EYRE. 313

acceptable to you. I don't wish to throw away my time and
trouble on an offering you would deem worthless."

He continued to £aze at the picture. The longer he looked,
the firmer he held it, the more he seemed to covet it. "It is
like!" he murmured; "the eye is well managed: the colour,
light, expression, are perfect. It smiles !"

" Would it comfort, or would it wound you to have a similar
painting ? Tell me that. When you are at Madagascar, or at
the Cape, or in India, would it be a consolation to have that
memento in your possession? or would the sight of it bring
recollections calculated to enervate and distress ?"

He now furtively raised his eyes : he glanced at the irresolute,
disturbed : he again surveyed the picture.

" That I should like to have it, is certain : whether it would be
judicious or wise is another question."

Since I had ascertained that Rosamond really preferred him,
and that her father was not likely to oppose the match, I — less
exalted in my views than St. John — had been strongly disposed
in my own heart to advocate their union. It seemed to me that,
should he become the possessor of Mr. Oliver's large fortune, he
might do as much good with it as if he went and laid his genius
out to wither, and his strength to waste, under a tropical sun.
With this persuasion I now answered :

" As far as I can see, it would be wiser and more judicious if
you were to take to yourself the original at once."

By this time he had sat down : he had laid the picture on the
table before him, and with his brow supported on both hands
hung fondly over it. I discerned he was now neither angry nor
shocked at my audacity. I saw even that to be thus frankly
addressed on a subject he had deemed unapproachable— to hear
it thus freely handled— was beginning to be felt by him as a new
pleasure — an unhoped-for relief. Reserved people often really
need the frank discussion of their sentiments and griefs more
than the expansive. The sternest-seeming stoic is human after
all ; and to " burst" with boldness and good will into the " silent
sea" of their souls, is often to confer on them the first of
obligations.

"She likes you, I am sure," said I, as I stood behind his
chair, " and her father respects you. Moreover, she is a sweet
girl — rather thoughtless ; but you would have sufficient thought
for both yourself and her. You ought to marry her."

" Does she like me ?" he asked.

"Certainly; better than she likes anyone else. She talks of
you continually: there is no subject she enjoys so much, or
touches upon so often."

" It is very pleasant to hear this," he said— "very : go on for
another quarter of an hour." And he actually took out his
watch and laid it upon the table to measure the time.

" But where is the use of going on/' I asked, " when you arc

314 JANE EYRE.

probably preparing some iron blow of contradiction, or forging a
fresh chain to fetter your heart ?"

" Don't imagine such hard things. Fancy me yielding and
melting, as I am doing : human love rising like a freshly opened
fountain in my mind and overflowing with sweet inundation all
the field I have so carefully, and with such labour prepared — so
assiduously sown with the seeds of good intentions, of self-deny-
ing plans. And now it is deluged with a nectarous flood — the
young germs swamped — delicious poison cankering them : now
I see myself stretched on an ottoman in the drawing-room at
Vale Hall, at my bride, Rosamond Oliver's feet : she is talking
to me with her sweet voice — gazing down on me with those eyes
your skilful hand has copied so well — smiling at me with these
coral lips. She is mine — I am hers — this present life and passing
world suffice to me. Hush ! say nothing — my heart is full of
delight — my senses are entranced — let the time I marked pass in
peace."

I humoured him : the watch ticked on : he breathed fast and
low: I stood silent. Amidst this hush the quarter sped; he
replaced the watch, laid the picture down, rose, and stood on
the hearth.

"Now," said he, "that little space was given to delirium and
delusion. I rested my temples on the breast of temptation, and
put my neck voluntarily under her yoke of flowers ; I tasted her
cup. The pillow was burning : there is an asp in the garland :
the wine has a bitter taste : her promises are hollow — her offers
false : I see and know all this."

I gazed at him in wonder.

"It is strange," pursued he, "that while I love Rosamond
Oliver so wildly — with all the intensity, indeed, of a first passion,
the object of which is exquisitely beautiful, graceful, and fascin-
ating — I experience at the same time a calm, unwarped con-
sciousness that she would not make me a good wife ; that ihe. is
not the partner suited to me ; that I should discover this within a
year after marriage ; and that to twelve months' rapture would
succeed a lifetime of regret. This I know."

" Strange, indeed !" I could not help ejaculating.

" While something in me," he went on, " is acutely sensible to
her charms, something else is as deeply impressed with her
defects : they are such that she could sympathise in nothing I
aspired to — co-operate in nothing I undertook. Rosamond a
sufferer, a labourer, a female apostle ? Rosamond a missionary's
wife? No!"

" But you need not be a missionary. You might relinquish
that scheme.' '

"Relinquish! What! my vocation? My great work? My
foundation laid on earth for a mansion in heaven ? My hopes of
being numbered in the band who have merged all ambitions in
the glorious one of bettering their race — of carrying knowledge
into the realms of ignorance — of substituting peace for war —

JANE EYRE. 315

freedom for bondage — religion for superstition — the hope of
heaven for the fear of hell ? Must I relinquish that ? It is dearer
than the blood in my veins. It is what I have to look forward to,
and to live for."

After a considerable pause, I said— "And Miss Oliver? Are
her disappointment and sorrow of no interest to you ?"

" Miss Oliver is ever surrounded by suitors and flatterers : in less
than a month my image will be effaced from her heart. She will
forget me ; and will marry, probably, some one who will make
her far happier than I should do."

"You speak coolly enough; but you suffer in the conflict.
You are wasting away."

" No. If I get a little thin it is with anxiety about my prospects,
yet unsettled— my departure, continually procrastinated. Only
this morning, I received intelligence that the successor, whose
arrival I have been so long expecting, cannot be ready to replace
me for three months to come yet ; and perhaps the three months
may extend to six."

" You tremble and become flushed whenever Miss Oliver enters
the schoolroom."

Again the surprised expression crossed his face. He had not
imagined that a woman would dare to speak so to a man. For
me, I felt at home in this sort of discourse. I could never rest in
communication with strong, discreet, and refined minds, whether
male or female, till I had passed the outworks of conventional
reserve, and crossed the threshold of confidence, and won a
place by their heart's very hearthstone.

"You are original," said he, "and not timid. There is
something brave in your spirit, as well as penetrating in your
eye : but allow me to assure you that you partially misinterpret
my emotions. You think them more profound and potent than
they are. You give me a larger allowance of sympathy than I
have a just claim to. When I colour, and when I shake before
Miss Oliver, I do not pity myself. I scorn the weakness. I
know it is ignoble ; a mere fever of the flesh : not, I declare, the
convulsion of the soul. Thai is just as fixed as a rock, firm set
in the depths of a restless sea. Know me to be what I am — a
cold hard man."

I smiled incredulously.

"You have taken ray confidence by storm," he continued:
"and now it is much at your service. I am simply, in mv
original state— stripped of that blood-bleached robe with which
Christianity covers human deformity— a cold, hard, ambitious
man. Natural affection only, of all the sentiments, has per-
manent power over me. Reason and not Feeling, is my guide ;
my ambition is unlimited ; my desire to rise higher, to do more
than others insatiable. I honour endurance, perseverance,
industry, talent; because these are the means by which men
achieve great ends, and mount to lofty eminence. I watch your
career with interest, because I consider you a specimen of a

316 JANE EYRE.

diligent, orderly, energetic woman : not because I deeply com-
passionate what you have gone through, or what you still
suffer."

"You would describe yourself as a mere pagan philosopher,"
I said.

" No. There is this difference between me and deistic
philosophers : I believe ; and I believe the Gospel. You missed
your epithet. I am not a pagan, but a Christian philosopher — a
follower of the sect of Jesus. As His disciple I adopt His pure,
His merciful, His benignant doctrines. I advocate them : I
am sworn to spread them. Won in youth to religion, she has
cultivated my original qualities thus : — From the minute germ,
natural affection, she has developed the overshadowing tree,
philanthropy. From the wild, stringy root of human uprightness,
she has reared a due sense of the divine justice. Of the ambition
to win power and renown for my wretched self, she has formed
the ambition to spread my Master's kingdom; to achieve
victories for the standard of the Cross. So much has religion
done for me ; turning the original materials to the best account ;
and training nature. But she could not eradicate nature : nor
will it be eradicated ' till this mortal shall put on immortality.' "

Having said this, he took his hat, which lay on the table
beside my palette. Once more he looked at the portrait.

" She is lovely," he murmured. " She is well named the Rose
of the World, indeed !"

" And may I not paint one like it for you ?"

" Cut bono? No."

He drew over the picture the sheet of thin paper on which I
was accustomed to rest my hand in painting, to prevent the card-
board from being sullied. What he suddenly saw on this blank
paper, it was impossible for me to tell : but something had
caught his eye. He took it up with a snatch ; he looked at the
edge ; then shot a glance at me, inexpressibly peculiar, and quite
incomprehensible : a glance that seemed to take and make note
of every point in my shape, face, and dress ; for it traversed all,
quick, keen as lightning. His lips parted, as if to speak : but
he checked the coming sentence, whatever it was.

" What is the matter ?" I asked.

"Nothing in the world," was the reply; and replacing the
paper, 1 saw him dexterously tear a narrow slip from the margin.
It disappeared in his glove ; and, with one hasty nod and "good-
afternoon," he vanished.

"Well!" I exclaimed, using an expression of the district;
"that caps the globe, however!"

I, in my turn, scrutinised the paper; but saw nothing on it
save a few dingy stains of paint where I had tried the tint in my
pencil. I pondered the mystery a minute or two ; but finding it
insolvable, and being certain it could not be of much moment, I
dismissed, and soon forgot it.

JANE EYRE. 317

CHAPTER XXXIII.

WHEN Mr. St. John went, it was beginning to snow; the
whirling storm continued all night. The next day a
keen wind brought fresh and blinding falls ; by twilight the valley
was drifted up and almost impassable. I had closed my shutter,
laid a mat to the door to prevent the snow from blowing in under
it, trimmed my fire, and after sitting nearly an hour on the hearth
listening to the muffled fury of the tempest, I lit a candle, took
down " Marmion," and beginning —

"Day set on Norham's castled steep,
And Tweed's fair river broad and deep,

And Cheviot's mountains lone ;
The massive towers, the donjon keep,
The flanking walls that round them sweep,

In yellow lustre shone."

I soon forgot storm in music.

I heard a noise : the wind, I thought, shook the door. No ; it
was St. John Rivers, who, lifting the latch, came in out of the
frozen hurricane— the howling darkness— and stood before me :
the cloak that covered his tall figure all white as a glacier. I
was almost in consternation ; so Tittle had I expected any guest
from the blocked-up vale that night.

" Any ill news ?" I demanded. " Has anything happened ?"

"No. How very easily alarmed you are!'* he answered,
removing his cloak and hanging it up against the door, towards
which he again coolly pushed the mat which his entrance had
deranged. He stamped the snow from his boots.

" I shall sully the purity of your floor," said he, " but you must
excuse me for once." Then he approached the fire. " I have
had hard work to get here, I assure you," he observed, as he
warmed his hands over the flame. " One drift took me up to the
waist ; happily the snow is quite soft yet."

" But why are you come ? I could not forbear saying.

" Rather an inhospitable question to put to a visitor ; but since
you ask it, I answer, simply to have a little talk with you ; I got
tired of my mute books ana empty rooms. Besides, since yester-
day, I have experienced the excitement of a person to whom a
tale has been half-told, and who is impatient to hear the sequel."

He sat down. I recalled his singular conduct of yesterday,
and really I began to fear his wits were touched. If he were
insane, however, his was a very cool and collected insanity : I
had never seen that handsome-featured face of his look more like
chiselled marble than it did just now, as he put aside his snow-
wet hair from his forehead and let the fire-light shine free on his
pale brow and cheek as pale, where it grieved me to discover
the hollow trace of care or sorrow now so plainly graved. I
waited, expecting he would say something I could at least com-

318 JANE EYRE.

prehend ; but his hand was now at his chin, his finger on his
lip : he was thinking. It struck me that his hand looked wasted
like his face. A perhaps uncalled-for gush of pity came over my
heart : I was moved to say :

"I wish Diana or Mary would come and live with you: it is
too bad that you should be quite alone ; and you are recklessly
rash about your own health."

" Not at all," said he : "I care for myself when necessary. I
am well now. What do you see amiss in me ?"

This was said with a careless, abstracted indifference, which
showed that my solicitude was, at least in his opinion, wholly
superfluous. I was silenced.

He still slowly moved his finger over his upper lip, and still his
eye dwelt dreamily on the glowing grate ; thinking it urgent to
say something, I asked him presently if he felt any draught from
the door, which was behind him.

" No, no," he responded, shortly and somewhat testily.

"Well," I reflected, " if you won't talk you may be still; I'll
let you alone now, and return to my book."

Sol snuffed the candle, and resumed the perusal of " Mar-
mion." He soon stirred; my eye was instantly drawn to his
movements; he only took out a morocco pocket-book, thence
produced a letter, which he read in silence, folded it, put it back,
relapsed into meditation. It was vain to try to read with such
an inscrutable fixture before me; nor could I, in my impatience,
consent to be dumb ; he might rebuff me if he liked, but talk I
would.

" Have you heard from Diana and Mary lately ?"

" Not since the letter I showed you a week ago."

"There has not been any change made about your own
arrangements? You will not be summoned to leave England
sooner than you expected ?"

" I fear not, indeed : such chance is too good to befall me."

Baffled so far I changed my ground — I bethought myself to
talk about the school and my scholars.

" Mary Garrett's mother is better, and Maiy came back to the
school this morning, and I shall have four new girls next week
from the Foundry Close — they would have come to-day but for
the snow."

"Indeed!"

" Mr. Oliver pays for two."

"Does he!"

" He means to give the whole school a treat at Christmas."

" I know."

" Was it your suggestion ?"

"No."

"Whose then?"

"Hip daughter's, I think."

" It is like her: she is so good-natured."

"Yes."

JANE EYRE. 3IQ

Again came the blank of a pause: the clock struck eight
strokes. It aroused him; he uncrossed his legs, sat erect,
turned to me.

"Leave your book a moment, and come a little nearer the
fire," he said.

Wondering, and of my wonder finding no end, I complied.

"Half an hour ago," he paused, "I spoke of my impatience
to hear the sequel of a tale; on reflection, I find the matter will
be better managed by my assuming the narrator's part, and con-
verting you into a listener. Before commencing, it is but fair to
warn you that the story will sound somewhat hackneyed in your
ears ; but stale details often regain a degree of freshness when
they pass through new lips. For the rest, whether trite or novel,
it is short.

"Twenty years ago, a poor curate — never mind his name at
this moment— fell in love with a rich man's daughter ; she fell in
love with him and married him, against the advice of all her
friends; who consequently disowned her immediately after the
wedding. Before two years passed, the rash pair were both
dead, and laid quietly side by side under one slab. I have seen
their grave ; it formed part of the pavement of a huge church-
yard surrounding the grim, soot-black old cathedral of an over-
grown manufacturing town in shire. They left a daughter,

which, at its very birth, Charity received in her lap — cold as that
of the snow-drift ' I almost stuck fast in to-night. Charity
carried the friendless thing to the house of its rich, maternal
relations ; it was reared by an aunt-in-law, called (I come to
names now) Mrs. Reed of Gateshead — you start— did your hear
a noise ? I daresay it is only a rat scrambling along the rafters
of the adjoining schoolroom : it was a barn before I had it
repaired and altered, and barns are generally haunted by rats.
—To proceed. Mrs. Reed kept the orphan ten years : whether
it was happy or not with her, I cannot say, never having been
told ; but at the end of that time she transferred it to a place
you know — being no other than Lowood School, where you so
long resided yourself. It seems her career there was very hon-
ourable: from a pupil, she became a teacher, like yourself—
really it strikes me there are parallel points in her history and
yours — she left it to be a governess : there, again, your fates
were analogous ; she undertook the education of a ward of a
certain Mr. Rochester."

"Mr. Rivers 1" I interrupted.

" I can guess your feelings," he said, "but restrain them for
a while : I have nearly finished ; hear me to the end. Of Mr.
Rochester's character I know nothing, but the one fact that he
professed to offer honourable marriage to this younj* girl, and at
the very altar she discovered he had a wife yet alive, though a
lunatic. What his subsequent conduct and proposals were is a
matter of pure conjecture ; but when an event transpired which
rendered inquiry after the governess necessary, it was discovered

320 JANE EYRE.

she was gone— no one could tell when, where, or how. She had
left Thornfield Hall in the night ; every research after her course
had been vain : the country had been scoured far and wide ; no
vestige of information could be gathered respecting her. Yet
that she should be found is become a matter of serious urgency ;
advertisements have been put in all the papers ; I myself have
received a letter from one Mr. Briggs, a solicitor, communicating
the details I have just imparted. Is it not an odd tale ?"

"Just tell me this," said I, " and since you know so much you
surely can tell it it me— what of Mr. Rochester ? How and where
is he ? What is he doing ? Is he well ?"

"lam ignorant of all concerning Mr. Rochester: the letter
never mentions him but to narrate the fraudulent and illegal
attempt I have adverted to. You should rather ask the name of
the governess — the nature of the event which requires her
appearance."

" Did no one go to Thornfield Hall then ? Did no one see Mr.
Rochester?"

" I suppose not."

" But they wrote to him ?"

" Of course."

" And what did he say ? Who has his letters ?"

" Mr. Briggs intimates that the answer to his application was
not from Mr. Rochester, but from a lady: it is signed "Alice
Fairfax."

I felt cold and dismayed ; my worst fears then were probably
true : he had in all probability left -England and rushed in reck-
less desperation to some former haunt on the Continent. And
what opiate for his severe sufferings — what object for his strong
passions — had he sought there ? I dared not answer the ques-
tion. Oh, my poor master — once almost my husband — whom I
had often called " my dear Edward ?"

" He must have been a bad man," observed Mr. Rivers.

" You don't know him — don't pronounce an opinion upon him,"
I said with warmth.

"Very well," he answered quietly; "and indeed my head is
otherwise occupied than with him : I have my tale to finish.
Since you won't ask the governess's name, I must tell it of my
own accord — stay — I have it here — it is always more satisfactory
to see important points written down, fairly committed to black
and white."

And the pocket-book was again deliberately produced, opened,
sought through : from one of its compartments was extracted a
shabby slip of paper, hastily torn off : I recognised in its texture
and its stains of ultra-marine, and lake, and vermilion, the
ravished margin of the portrait cover. He got up, held it close
to my eyes : and I read, traced in Indian ink, in my own hand-
writing, the words "Jane Eyre"— the work doubtless of some
moment of abstraction.

'Briggs wrote to me of a Jane Eyre:" he said, "the

JANE EYRE. 321

advertisements demanded a Jane Eyre : I knew a Jane Elliott. —
I confess I had my suspicions, but it was only yesterday after-
noon they were at once resolved into certainty. You own the
name and renounce the alias f"

"Yes— yes— but where is Mr. Briggs? He perhaps knows
more of Mr. Rochester than you do."

" Briggs is in London ; I should doubt his knowing anything
at all about Mr. Rochester; it is not in Mr. Rochester he is
interested. Meantime, you forget essential points in pursuing
trifles : you do not inquire why Mr. Briggs sought after you —
what he wanted with you."

"Well, what did he want?"

" Merely to tell you that your uncle, Mr. Eyre of Madeira, is
dead ; that he has left you all his property, and that you are now
rich — merely that— nothing more."

"I! rich?"

"Yes, you, rich— quite an heiress."

Silence succeeded.

" You must prove your identity of course," resumed St. John,
presently : " a step which will offer no difficulties ; you can then
enter on immediate possession. Your fortune is vested in the
English funds; Briggs has the will and the necessary docu-
ments."

Here was a new card turned up 1 It is a fine thing, reader, to
be lifted in a moment from indigence to wealth — a very fine
thing: but not a matter one can comprehend, or consequently
enjoy all at once. And then there are other chances in life far
more thrilling and rapture-giving : this is solid, an affair of the
actual world, nothing ideal about it : all its associations are solid
and sober, and its manifestations are the same. One does not
jump, and spring, and shout hurrah ! at hearing one has got a
fortune, one begins to consider responsibilities, and to ponder
business; on a base of steady satisfaction rise certain grave
cares — and we contain ourselves, and brood over our bliss with
a solemn brow.

Besides, the words Legacy, Bequest, go side by side with the
words Death, Funeral. My uncle I had heard was dead— my
only relative : ever since being made aware of his existence, I
had cherished the hope of one day seeing him : now, I never
should. And then this money came only to me : not to me and
a rejoicing family, but to my isolated self. It was a grand boon
doubtless : and independence would be glorious — yes, I felt that
— thai thought swelled my heart.

"You unbend your forehead at last," said Mr. Rivers; "I
thought Medusa had looked at you, and that you were turning to
stone — perhaps now you will ask how much you are worth ?"

" How much am I worth ?"

" Oh, a trifle ! Nothing of course to speak of— twenty thou-
sand pounds, I think they say— but what is that ?"

"Twenty thousand pounds?"

U

322 JANE EYRE.

Here was a new stunner — I had been calculating on four or
five thousand. This news actually took my breath for a
moment : Mr. St. John, whom I had never heard laugh before,
laughed now."

" Well," said he, " if you had committed a murder, and I had
told you your crime was discovered, you could scarcely look
more aghast."

" It is a large sum — don't you think there is a mistake ?"

"No mistake at all."

" Perhaps you have read the figures wrong — it may be 2000 !"

" It is written in letters, not figures — twenty thousand."

I again felt rather like an individual of but average gastro-
nomical powers, sitting down to feast alone at a table spread
with provisions for a hundred. Mr. Rivers rose now and put his
cloak on.

"If it were not such a very wild night," he said, "I would
send Hannah down to keep you company : you look too desper-
ately miserable to be left alone. But Hannah, poor woman !
could not stride the drifts so well as I : her legs are not quite so
long: so I must e'en leave you to your sorrows. Good-night."

He was lifting the latch : a sudden thought occurred to me.

" Stop one minute !" I cried.

"Well?"

" It puzzles me to know why Mr. Briggs wrote to you about
me ; or how he knew you, or could fancy that you, living in such
an out-of-the-way place, had the power to aid in my discovery."

" Oh ! I am a clergyman," he said, " and the clergy are often
appealed to about odd matters." Again the latch rattled.

"No: that does not satisfy me!" I exclaimed: and, indeed,
there was something in the hasty and unexplanatory reply,
which, instead of allaying, piqued my curiosity more than ever.

" It is a very strange piece of business," I added. " I must
know more about it."

"Another time."

"No: to-night! — to-night!" and as he turned from the door,
I placed myself between it and him. He looked rather
embarrassed.

" You certainly shall not go till you have told me all 1" I said.

" I would rather not, just now."

" You shall ! — you must !"

" I would rather Diana or Mary informed you."

Of course these objections wrought my eagerness to a climax :
gratified it must be, and that without delay ; and I told him so.

"But I apprised you that I was a hard man," said he;
" difficult to persuade."

"And I am a hard woman — impossible to put off."

"And then," he pursued, "I am cold: no fervour infects
me."

"Whereas I am hot, and fire dissolves ice. The blaze there
has thawed all the snow from your cloak ; by the same token, it

JANE EYRE. 323

has streamed on to my floor, and made it like a trampled street.
As you hope ever to be forgiven, Mr. Rivers, the high crime and
misdemeanour of spoiling a sanded kitchen, tell me what I wish
to know."

" Well, then," he said, " I yield ; if not to your earnestness, to
your perseverance: as stone is worn by continual dropping.
Besides, vou must know some day — as well now as later. Your
name is Jane Eyre ?"

" Of course : that was all settled before."

"You are not, perhaps, aware that I am your namesake? —
that I was christened St. John Eyre Rivers?"

"No, indeed! I rememoer now seeing the letter E. comprised
in your initials written in books you have at different times lent
me ; but I never asked for what name it stood. But what then ?
Surely "

I stopped : I could not trust myself to entertain, much less to
express, the thought that rushed upon me — that embodied itself
— that, in a second, stood out a strong, solid probability. Cir-
cumstances knit themselves, fitted themselves, shot into order:
the chain that had been lying hitherto a formless lump of links,
was drawn out straight — every ring was perfect, the connection
complete. I knew, by instinct, how the matter stood, before St.
John had said another word : but I cannot expect the reader to
have the same intuitive perception, so I must repeat his
explanation.

" My mother's name was Eyre ; she had two brothers; one a
clergyman, who married Miss Jane Reed, of Gateshead; the
other John Eyre, Esq., merchant, late of Funchal, Madeira.
Mr. Bnggs, being Mr. Eyre's solicitor, wrote to us last August
to inform us of our uncle's death ; and to say that he had left his
property to his brother the clergyman's orphan daughter; over-
looking us, in consequence of a quarrel, never forgiven, between
him and my father. He wrote again a few weeks since, to
intimate that the heiress was lost; and asking if we knew
anything of her. A name casually written on a slip of paper has
enabled me to find her out. You know the rest." Again he was
going, but I set my back against the door.

" Do let me speak," I said, " let me have one moment to draw
breath and reflect." I paused— he stood before me, hat in hand,
looking composed enough. I resumed :

"Your mother was my father's sister."

"Yes."

" My aunt, consequently?"

He Dowed.

"My uncle John was your uncle John? You, Diana and
Mary, are his sister's children ; as I am his brother's child ?"

" Undeniably."

"You three, then, are my cousins; half our blood on each side
flows from the same source ?"

" We are cousins; yes."

324 JANE EYRE.

I surveyed him. It seemed I had found a brother : one I could
be proud of — one I could love ; and two sisters, whose qualities
were such that, when I knew them but as mere strangers, they
had inspired me with genuine affection and admiration. The
two girls, on whom, kneeling down on the wet ground, and
looking through the low, latticed window of Moor House kitchen,
I had gazed with so bitter a mixture of interest and despair,
were my near kinswomen ; and the young and stately gentleman
who had found me almost dying at his threshold, was my blood
relation. Glorious discovery to a lonely wretch ! This was
wealth indeed ! — wealth to the heart ! — a mine of pure, genial
affections. This was a blessing, bright, vivid and exhilarating ;
not like the ponderous gift of gold : rich and welcome enough in
its way, but sobering from its weight. I now clapped my hands
in sudden joy— my pulse bounded, my veins thrilled.

"Oh, I am glad! — I am glad!" I exclaimed.

St. John smiled. " Did I not say you neglected essential
points to pursue trifles?" he asked. "You were serious when I
told you you had got a fortune ; and now, for a matter of no
moment, you are excited."

" What can you mean ? It may be of no moment to you ; you
have sisters and don't care for a cousin ; but I had nobody; and
now three relations — or two, if you don't choose to be counted —
are born into my world full grown. I say again, I am glad !"

I walked fast through the room : I stopped, half suffocated
with the thoughts that rose faster than I could receive, compre-
hend, settle them : — thoughts of what might, could, would, and
should be, and that ere long. I looked at the blank wall; it
seemed a sky, thick with ascending stars — every one lit me to a
purpose or delight. Those who had saved my life, whom, till
this hour, I had loved barrenly, I could now benefit. They were
under a yoke : I could free them : they were scattered — I could
reunite them — the independence, the affluence which was mine,
might be theirs too. Were we not four? Twenty thousand
pounds shared equally, would be five thousand each — enough and
to spare: justice would be done — mutual happiness secured.
Now the wealth did not weigh on me : now it was not a mere
bequest of coin — it was a legacy of life, hope, enjoyment.

How I looked while these ideas were taking my spirit by storm,
I cannot tell ; but I perceived soon that Mr. Rivers had placed a
chair behind me, and was gently attempting to make me sit down
on it. He also advised me to be composed : I scorned the
insinuation of helplessness and distraction, shook off his hand,
began to walk about again.

"Write to Diana and Mary to-morrow," I said, "and tell
them to come home directly ; Diana said they would both con-
sider themselves rich with a thousand pounds, so with five
thousand they will do very well."

"Tell me where I can get you a glass of water," said St.

JANE EYRE. 325

John; "you must really make an effort to tranquillise your
feelings.' f

"Nonsense! and what sort of an effect will the bequest have
on you ? Will it keep you in England, induce you to many Miss
Oliver, and settle down like an ordinary mortal ?"

"You wander; your head becomes confused ; I have been too
abrupt in communicating the news ; it has excited you beyond
your strength."

" Mr. Rivers 1 You quite put me out of patience. I am
rational enough; it is you who misunderstand; or rather who
affect to misunderstand."

"Perhaps if you explained yourself a little more fully I should
comprehend better."

" Explain ! What is there to explain ? You cannot fail to see
that twenty thousand pounds, the sura in question, divided equally
between the nephew and three nieces of our uncle, will give five
thousand to each ? What I want is, that you should write to
your sisters, and tell them of the fortune that has accrued to
them."

" To you, you mean."

" I have intimated my view of the case : I am incapable of
taking any other. I am not brutally selfish, blindly unjust, or
fiendishly ungrateful. Besides, I am resolved I will have a home
and connections. I like Moor House, and I will live at Moor
House ; I like Diana and Mary, and I will attach myself for life
to Diana and Mary. It would please and benefit me to have five
thousand pounds; it would torment and oppress me to have
twenty thousand: which, moreover, could never be mine in
justice, thou it might in law. I abandon to you, then, what is
absolutely superfluous to me. Let there be no opposition, and
no discussion about it; let us agree amongst each other, and
decide the point at once."

"This is acting on first impulses; you must take days to
consider such a matter, ere your word can be regarded as
valid."

" Oh I if all you doubt is my sincerity, I am easy: you see the
justice of the case ?"

" I do see a certain justice; but it is contrary to all custom.
Besides, the entire fortune is your right : my uncle gained it by
his own efforts ; he was free to leave it to whom he would : he
left in to you. After all, justice permits you to keep it : you may,
with a clear conscience, consider it absolutely your own."

" With me," said I, " it is fully as much a matter of feeling as
of conscience : I must indulge my feelings ; I so seldom have had
an opportunity of doing so. Were you to argue, object, and
annoy me for a year, I could not forego the delicious pleasure of
which I have caught a glimpse — that of repaying, in part, a
mighty obligation, and winning to myself lifelong friends."

" You think so now," rejoined St. John ; " because you do not
know what it is to possess, nor consequently to enjoy, wealth :

326 JANE EYRE.

you cannot form a notion of the importance twenty thousand
pounds would give you ; of the place it would enable you to take
in society ; of the prospects it would open to you ; you cannot — "

"And you," I interrupted, " cannot at all imagine the craving
I have for fraternal and sisterly love. I never had a home : I
never had brothers or sisters ; I must and will have them now :
you are not reluctant to admit me and own me, are you?"

"Jane: I will be your brother — my sisters will be your sisters
— without stipulating for this sacrifice of your just rights."

"Brother? Yes; at the distance of a thousand leagues!
Sisters ? Yes ; slaving amongst strangers ! I, wealthy — gorged
with gold I never earned and do not merit ! You, penniless !
Famous equality and fraternisation ! Close union ! Intimate
attachment !"

"But, Jane, your aspirations after family ties and domestic
happiness may be realised otherwise than by the means you
contemplate. You may marry."

"Nonsense, again! Marry! I don't want to marry, and
never shall marry."

" That is saying too much : such hazardous affirmations are a
proof of the excitement under which you labour."

"It is not saying too much. I know what I feel, and how
averse are my inclinations to the bare thought of marriage. No
one would take me for love ; and I will not be regarded in the
light of a mere money-speculation. And I do not want a stranger
— unsympathising alien, different from me. I want my kindred :
those with whom I have full fellow-feeling. Say again you will
be my brother: when you uttered the words I was satisfied,
happy; repeat them, if you can, repeat them sincerely."

" I think I can. I know I have always loved my own sisters ;
and I know on what my affection for them is grounded — respect
for their worth, and admiration of their talents. You too have
principle and mind: your tastes and habits resemble Diana's
and Mary's; your presence is always agreeable to me; in your
conversation I have already for some time found a salutary
solace. I feel I can easily and naturally make room in my heart
for you, as my third and youngest sister."

"Thank you: that contents me for to-night. Now you had
better go ; for if you stay longer, you will perhaps irritate me
afresh by some mistrustful scruple."

"And the school, Miss Eyre? It must now be shut up, I
suppose ?"

"No. I will retain my post of mistress till you get a
substitute."

He smiled approbation : we shook hands, and he took leave.

I need not narrate in detail the further struggles I had, and
arg-uments I used, to get matters regarding the legacy settled as
I wished. My task was a very hard one : but, as I was absolute-
ly resolved— as my cousins saw at length that my mind was really
and immutably fixed on making a just division of the property —

JANE EYRE. 327

as they must in their own hearts have felt the equity of the inten-
tion ; and must, besides, have been innately conscious that in my
place they would have done precisely what I wished to do — they
yielded at length so far as to consent to put the affair to arbitra-
tion. The judges chosen were Mr. Oliver and an able lawyer:
both coincided in my opinion : I carried my point. The instru-
ments of transfer were drawn out : St. John, Diana, Mary, and
I, each became possessed of a competency.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

IT was near Christmas by the time all was settled : the season
of general holiday approached. I now closed Morton school ;
taking care that the parting should not be barren on my side.
Good fortune opens the hand as well as the heart wonderfully ;
and to give somewhat when we have largely received, is but to
afford a vent to the unusual ebullition of the sensations. I had
long felt with pleasure that many of my rustic scholars liked me,
and when we parted, that consciousness was confirmed: they
manifested their affection plainly and strongly. Deep was my
gratification to find I had really a place in their unsophisticated
hearts : I promised them that never a week should pass in future
that I did not visit them, and give them an hour's teaching in
their school.

Mr. Rivers came up, as — having seen the classes, now num-
bering sixty girls, file out before me, and lock the door — I stood
with the key in my hand, exchanging a few words of special
farewell with some half-dozen of my best scholars : as decent,
respectable, modest, and well-informed young women as could
be found in the ranks of the British peasantry. And that is
saying a great deal ; for after all, the British peasantry are the
best taught, best mannered, most self-respecting of any in
Europe: since those days I have seen paysannes and Bauer-
innen ; and the best of them seemed to me ignorant, coarse and
besotted, compared with my Morton girls.

44 Do you consider you have got your reward for a season of
exertion ?" asked Mr. Rivers, when they were gone. 44 Does not
the consciousness of having done some real good in your day
and generation give pleasure?"

44 Doubtless." '

44 And you have only toiled a few months 1 Would not a life
devoted to the task of regenerating your race be well spent ?"

44 Yes," I said ; ** but I could not go on for ever so : I want to
enjoy my own faculties as well as to cultivate those of < other
people. I must enjoy them now ; don't recall either my mind or
body to the school ; 1 am out of it and disposed for full holiday."

328 JANE EYRE.

He looked grave. " What now ? What sudden eagerness is
this you evince ? What are you going to do ?"

" To be active : as active as I can. And first I must beg you
to set Hannah at liberty, and get somebody else to wait on you."

" Do you want her ?"

" Yes, to go with me to Moor House : Diana and Mary will be
at home in a week, and I want to have everything in order
against their arrival."

"I understand: I thought you were for flying off on some
excursion. It is better so : Hannah shall go with you."

"Tell her to be ready by to-morrow then; and here is the
schoolroom key : I will give you the key of my cottage in the
morning."

He took it. "You give it up very gleefully," said he; "I
don't quite understand your light-heartedness ; because I cannot
tell what employment you propose to yourself as a substitute for
the one you are relinquishing. What aim, what purpose, what
ambition in life have you now ?"

"My first aim will be to clean down (do you comprehend the
full force of the expression?) to clean down Moor House from
chamber to cellar ; my next to rub it up with beeswax, oil, and
an indefinite number of cloths, till it glitters again ; my third, to
arrange every chair, table, bed, carpet, with mathematical pre-
cision ; afterwards I shall go near to ruin you in coals and peat
to keep up good fires in every room ; and lastly, the two days
preceding that on which your sisters are expected, will be
devoted by Hannah and me to such a beating of eggs, sorting of
currants, grating of spices, compounding of Christmas cakes,
chopping up of materials for mince-pies, and solemnising of
other culinary rites, as words can convey but an inadequate
notion of to the uninitiated like you. My purpose, in short, is to
have all things in an absolutely perfect state of readiness for
Diana and Mary, before next Thursday ; and my ambition is to
give them a beau-ideal of a welcome when they come."

St. John smiled slightly : still he was dissatisfied.

" It is all very well for the present," said he : " but seriously,
I trust that when the first flush of vivacity is over, you will look a
little higher than domestic endearments and household joys."

" The best thing the world has !" I interrupted.

" No, Jane, no : this world is not the scene of fruition ; do not
attempt to make it so : nor of rest ; do not turn slothful.' '

" I mean, on the contrary, to be busy."

"Jane, I excuse you for the present: two months' grace I
allow you for the full enjoyment of your new position, and for
pleasing yourself with this late-found charm of relationship ; but
then, I hope you will begin to look beyond Moor House and
Morton, and sisterly society, and the selfish calm and sensual
comfort of civilised affluence. I hope your energies will then
once more trouble you with their strength."

I looked at him with surprise. " St. John," I said, " I think.

JANE EYRE. 329

you are almost wicked to talk so. I am disposed to be as con-
tent as a queen, and you try to stir me up to restlessness ! To .
what end?"

" To the end of turning to profit the talents which God has
committed to your keeping ; and of which He will surely one day
demand a strict account. Jane, I shall watch you closely and
anxiously — I warn you of that. And try to restrain the dispro-
portionate fervour with which you throw yourself into com-
monplace home-pleasures. Don't cling so tenaciously to ties of
the flesh ; save your constancy and ardour for an adequate
cause ; forbear to waste them on trite transient objects. Do you
hear, Jane?"

Yes; just as if you were speaking Greek. I feel I have

adequate cause to be happy, and I will be happy. Good-bye !"

Happy at Moor House I was, and hard I worked ; and so did
Hannah ; she was charmed to see how jovial I could be amidst

the bustle of a house turned topsy-turvy — how I could brush,
and dust, and clean, and cook. And really after a day or two
of confusion worse confounded, it was delightful, by degrees, to
invoke order from the chaos ourselves had made. I had pre-
viously taken a journey to S , to purchase some new furni-
ture : my cousins having given me carte blanche to effect what
alterations I pleased, and a sum having been set aside for that
purpose. The ordinary sitting-room and bedrooms I left much
as they were : for I knew Diana and Mary would derive more
pleasure from seeing again the old homely tables, and chairs,
and beds, than from the spectacle of the smartest innovations.
Still some novelty was necessary, to give to their return the
piquancy with which I wished it to be invested. Dark hand-
some new carpets and curtains, an arrangement of some care-
fully selected antique ornaments in porcelain and bronze, new
coverings, and mirrors, and dressing-cases for the toilet tables,
answered the end : they looked fresh without being glaring.
A spare parlour and bed* room I refurnished entirely, with old
mahogany and crimson upholstery ; I laid canvas on the pas-
sage, and carpets on the stairs. When all was finished, I
thought Moor House as complete a model of bright modest snug-
ness within, as it was, at this season, a specimen of wintry waste
and desert dreariness without.

The eventful Thursday at length came. They were expected*
about dark, and ere dusk, fires were lit upstairs and below ; the
kitchen was in perfect trim ; Hannah and I were dressed and all
was in readiness.

St. John arrived first. I had entreated him to keep auite clear
of the house till everything was arranged : and, indeea, the bare
idea of the commotion, at once sordid and trivial, going on
within its walls sufficed to scare him to estrangement. He
found me in the kitchen, watching the progress of certain cakes
for tea, then baking. Approaching the hearth, he asked, " If
I was at last satisfied with housemaid's work?" I answered by

330 JANE EYRE.

inviting him to accompany me on a general inspection of the
result of my labours. With some difficulty, I got him to make
the tour of the house. He just looked in at the doors I opened ;
and when he had wandered upstairs and downstairs, he said I
must have gone through a great deal of fatigue and trouble to
have effected such considerable changes in so short a time : but
not a syllable did he utter indicating pleasure in the improved
aspect of his abode.

This silence damped me. I thought perhaps the alterations
had disturbed some old associations he valued. I inquired
whether this was the case : no doubt in a somewhat crestfallen
tone.

"Not at all; he had, on the contrary, remarked that I had
scrupulously respected every association: he feared, indeed, I
must have bestowed more thought on the matter than it was
worth. How many minutes, for instance, had I devoted to
studying the arrangement of this very room ? — By-the-by, could I
tell him where such a book was ?"

I showed him the volume on the shelf: he took it down, and
withdrawing to his accustomed window recess, he began to
read it.

Now, I did not like this, reader. St. John was a good man ;
but I began to feel he had spoken truth of himself, when he said
he was hard and cold. The humanities and amenities of life had
no attraction for him — its peaceful enjoyments no charm.
Literally, he lived only to aspire — after what was good and
great, certainly : but still he would never rest ; nor approve of
others resting round him. As I looked at his lofty forehead,
still and pale as a white stone — at his fine lineaments fixed in
study — I comprehended all at once that he would hardly make a
good husband : that it would be a trying thing to be his wife. I
understood, as by inspiration, the nature of his love for Miss
Oliver ; I agreed with him that it was but a love of the senses.
I comprehended how he should despise himself for the feverish
influence it exercised over him ; how he should wish to stifle
and destroy it ; how he should mistrust its ever conducing
permanently to his happiness, or hers. I saw he was of the
material from which Nature hews her heroes — Christian and
Pagan — her lawgivers, her statesmen, her conquerors : a stead-
fast bulwark for great interests to rest upon ; but, at the fireside,
too, often a cold cumbrous column, gloomy and out of place.

"This parlour is not his sphere," I reflected: "the Himalayan
ridge, or Caffre bush, even the plague-cursed Guinea Coast
swamp, would suit him better. Well may he eschew the calm of
domestic life ; it is not his element : there his faculties stagnate
— they cannot develop or appear to advantage. It is in scenes
of strife and danger — where courage is proved, and energy
exercised, and fortitude tasked — that he will speak and move,
the leader and superior. A merry child would have the advan-

JANE EYRE. 331

tage of him on this hearth. He is right to choose a missionary's
career — I see it now."

"They are coming! they are coming!" cried Hannah, throw-
ing open the parlour door. At the same moment old Carlo
barked joyfully. Out I ran. It was now dark; but a rumbling
of wheels was audible. Hannah soon had a lantern lit. The
vehicle had stopped at the wicket ; the driver opened the door :
first one well known form, then another, stepped out. In a
minute I had my face under their bonnets, in contact first with
Mary's soft cheek, then with Diana's flowing curls. ' They
laughed — kissed me — then Hannah : patted Carlo, who was half
wild with delight, asked eagerly if all was well; and being
assured in the affirmative, hastened into the house.

They were stiff with their long and jolting drive from Whit-
cross, and chilled with the frosty night air ; but their pleasant
countenances expanded to the cheerful firelight. While the
driver and Hannah brought in the boxes, they demanded St.
John. At this moment he advanced from the parlour. They
ooth threw their arms round his neck at once. He gave each
one quiet kiss, said in a low tone a few words of welcome, stood
a while to be talked to, and then, intimating that he supposed
they would soon rejoin him in the parlour, withdrew there as to a
place of refuge.

I had lit their candles to go upstairs, but Diana had first to
give hospitable orders respecting the driver ; this done, both fol-
lowed me. They were delighted with the renovation and decora-
tion of their rooms ; with the new drapery, and fresh carpets, and
rich tinted china vases : they expressed their gratification
ungrudgingly. I had the pleasure of feeling that my arrange-
ments met their wishes exactly ; and that what I had done added
a vivid charm to their joyous return home.

Sweet was that evening. My cousins, full of exhilaration,
were so eloquent in narrative and comment, that their fluency
covered St. John's taciturnity : he was sincerely glad to see his
sisters ; but in their glow of fervour and flow of joy he could not
sympathise. The event of the day — that is, the return of Diana
and Mary — pleased him ; but the accompaniments of that event,
the glad tumult, the garrulous glee of reception, irked him : I
saw he wished the calmer morrow was come. In the very
meridian of the night's enjoyment, about an hour after tea, a rap
was heard at the door. Hannah entered with the intimation that
" a poor lad was come, at that unlikely time, to fetch Mr. Rivers
to see his mother, who was drawing away."

44 Where does she live, Hannah ?"

44 Clear up at Whitcross Brow, almost four miles off; and moor
and moss all the way."

44 Tell him I will go."

44 I'm sure, sir, you had better not. It's the worst road to
travel after dark that can be : there's no track all over the bog.
And then it is such a bitter night— the keenest wind you ever

332 JANE EYRE.

felt. You had better send word, sir, that you will be there in the
morning."

But he was already in the passage, putting on his cloak ; and
without one objection, one murmur, he departed. It was then
nine o'clock : he did not return till midnight. Starved and tired
enough he was : but he looked happier than when he set out.
He had performed an act of duty; made an exertion; felt his
own strength to do and deny, and was on better terms with
himself.

I am afraid the whole of the ensuing week tried his patience.
It was Christmas week : we took to no settled employment, but
spent it in a sort of merry domestic dissipation. The air of the
moors, the freedom of home, the dawn of prosperity, acted on
Diana and Mary's spirits like some life-giving elixir : they were
gay from morning till noon, and from noon till night. They
could always talk : and their discourse, witty, pithy, original,
had such charms for me, that I preferred listening to, and sharing
in it, to doing anything else. St. John did not rebuke our
vivacity ; but he escaped from it : he was seldom in the house ;
his parish was large, the population scattered, and he found
daily business in visiting the sick and poor in its different
districts.

One morning, at breakfast, Diana, after looking a little
pensive for some minutes, asked him, "If his plans were yet
unchanged?"

"Unchanged and unchangeable," was the reply. And he
proceeded to inform us that his departure from England was now
definitely fixed for the ensuing year.

"And Rosamond Oliver?" suggested Mary: the words seem-
ing to escape her lips involuntarily: for no sooner had she
uttered them, than she made a gesture as if wishing to recall
them. St. John had a book in his hand — it was his unsocial
custom to read at meals — he closed it, and looked up.

" Rosamond Oliver," said he, "is about to be married to Mr.^
Granby ; one of the best connected and most estimable residents

in S , grandson and heir to Sir Frederic Granby : I had the

intelligence from her father yesterday."

His sisters looked at each other, and at me; we all three
looked at him : he was serene as glass.

"The match must have been got up hastily," said Diana:
"they cannot have known each other long."

" But two months : they met in October at the county ball at

S . But where there are no obstacles to a union, as in the

present case, where the connection is in every point desirable,

delays are unnecessary : they will be married as soon as S-

Place, which Sir Frederic gives up to them, can be refitted for
their reception."

The first time I found St. John alone after this communication,
I felt tempted to inquire if the event distressed him : but he
seemed so little to need sympathy, that, so far from venturing to

JANE EYRE. 333

offer him more, I experienced some shame at the recollection of
what I had already hazarded. Besides, I was out of practice in
talking to him : his reserve was again frozen over, and my frank-
ness was congealed beneath it. He had not kept his promise of
treating me like his sisters ; he continually made little, chilling
differences between us, which did not at all tend to the develop-
ment of cordiality: in short, now that I was acknowledged his
kinswoman, and lived under the same roof with him, I felt the
distance between us to be far greater than when he had known
me only as the village schoolmistress. When I remembered how
far I had once been admitted to his confidence, I could hardly
comprehend his present frigidity.

Such being the case, I felt not a little surprised when he raised
his head suddenly from the desk over which he was stooping,
and said: "You see, Jane, the battle is fought and the victory
won."

Startled at being thus addressed, I did not immediately reply :
after a moment's hesitation I answered :

" But are you sure you are not in the position of those con-
querors whose triumphs have cost them too dear? Would not
such another ruin you ?"

" I think not ; and if I were, it does not much signify ; I shall
never be called upon to contend for such another. The event of
the conflict is decisive : my way is now clear ; I thank God for
it 1" So saying, he returned to his papers and his silence.

As our mutual happiness (/'.*., Diana's, Mary's, and mine)
settled into a quieter character, and we resumed our usual habits
and regular studies, St. John stayed more at home ; he sat with
us in the same room, sometimes for hours together. While Mary
drew, Diana pursued a course of encyclopaedic reading she had
(to my awe and amazement) undertaken, and I fagged away at
German, he pondered a mystic lore of his own : that of some
eastern tongue, the acquisition of which he thought necessary to
his plans.

Thus engaged, he appeared, sitting in his own recess, quiet
and absorbed enough ; but that blue eye of his had a habit of
leaving the outlandish-looking grammar, and wandering over,
and sometimes fixing upon us, his fellow-students, with a curious
intensity of observation : if caught, it would be instantly with-
drawn ; yet ever and anon, it turned searchingly to our table. I
wondered what it meant : I wondered, too, at the punctual satis-
faction he never failed to exhibit on an occasion that seemed to
me of small moment, namely,— my weekly visit to Morton school ;
and still more was I puzzled when, if the day was unfavourable,
if there was snow, or rain, or high wind, and his sisters urged me
not to go, he would invariably make light of their solicitude, and
encourage me to accomplish the task without regard to the
elements.

"Jane is not such a weakling as you would make her," he
would say : " she can bear a mountain blast, or a shower, or a

334 JANE EYRE.

few flakes of snow, as well as any of us. Her constitution is both
sound and elastic; — better calculated to endure variations of
climate than many more robust."

And when I returned, sometimes a good deal tired, and not a
little weather-beaten, I never dared complain, because I saw that
to murmur would be to vex him : on all occasions fortitude
pleased him ; the reverse was a special annoyance.

One afternoon, however, I got leave to stay at home, because I
really had a cold. His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead :
I sat reading Schiller; he, deciphering his crabbed Oriental
scrolls. As I exchanged a translation for an exercise, I hap-
pened to look his way : there I found myself under the influence
of the ever-watchful blue eye. How long it had been searching
me through and through, and over and over, I cannot tell : so
keen was it, and yet so cold, I felt for the moment superstitious
— as if I were sitting in the room with something uncanny.

" Jane, what are you doing ?"

"Learning German."

" I want you to give up German, and learn Hindostanee."

"You are not in earnest?"

"In such earnest that I must have it so: and I will tell you
why. ' '

He then went on to explain that Hindostanee was the language
he was himself at present studying : that, as he advanced, he
was apt to forget the commencement ; that it would assist him
greatly to have a pupil with whom he might again and again go
over the elements, and so fix them thoroughly in his mind ; that
his choice had hovered for some time between me and his sisters :
but that he had fixed on me, because he saw I could sit at a task
the longest of the three. Would I do him this favour ? I should
not, perhaps, have to make the sacrifice long ; as it wanted now
barely three months to his departure.

St. John was not a man to be lightly refused : you felt that
every impression made on him, either for pain or pleasure, was
deep-graved and permanent. I consented. When Diana and
Mary returned, the former found her scholar transferred from her
to her brother: she laughed; and both she and Mary agreed
that St. John should never have persuaded them to such a step.
He answered, quietly :

" I know it."

I found him a very patient, very forbearing, and yet an exacting
master : he expected me to do a great deal ; and when I fulfilled
his expectations, he, in his own way, fully testified his approba-
tion. By degrees, he acquired a certain influence over me that
took away my liberty of mind : his praise and notice were more
restraining than his indifference. I could no longer talk or laugh
freely when he was by ; because a tiresomely importunate instinct
reminded me that vivacity (at least in me) was distasteful to him.
I was so fully aware that only serious moods and occupations
were acceptable, that in his presence every effort to sustain or

JANE EYRE. 335

follow any other became vain: I fell under a freezing spell.
When he said "go," I went; "come," I came; "do this," I did
it. But I did not love my servitude : I wished many a time, he
had continued to neglect me.

One evening when, at bedtime, his sisters and I stood round
him, bidding him good-night, he kissed each of them, as was his
custom ; and, as was equally his custom, he gave me his hand.
Diana, who chanced to be in a frolicsome humour {she was not
painfully controlled by his will ; for hers, in another way, was as
strong), exclaimed :

" St. John ! you used to call Jane your third sister, but you
don't treat her as such: you should kiss her too."

She pushed me towards him. I thought Diana very provoking,
and felt uncomfortably confused ; and while I was thus thinking
and feeling, St. John bent his head, his Greek face was brought
to a level with mine, his eyes questioned my eyes piercingly — he
kissed me. There are no sucn things as marble kisses, or ice
kisses, or I should say, my ecclesiastical cousin's salute belonged
to one of these classes ; but there may be experiment kisses, and
his was an experiment kiss. When given, he viewed me to learn
the result; it was not striking: I am sure I did not blush; per-
haps I might have turned a little pale, for I felt as if this kiss
were a seal affixed to my fetters. He never omitted the cere-
mony afterwards, and the gravity and quiescence with which I
underwent it, seemed to invest it for him with a certain charm.

As for me, I daily wished more to please him : but to do so, I
felt daily more and more that I must disown half my nature, stifle
half my faculties, wrest my tastes from their original bent, force
myself to the adoption of pursuits for which I had no natural
vocation. He wanted to train me to an elevation I could never
reach : it racked me hourly to aspire to the standard he uplifted.
The thing was as impossible as to mould my irregular features to
his correct and classic pattern, to give to my changeable green
eyes the sea-blue tint and solemn lustre of his own.

Not his ascendancy alone, however, held me in thrall at present.
Of late it had been easy enough for me to look sad : a cankering
evil sat at my heart and drained my happiness at its source — the
evil of suspense.

Perhaps you think I had forgotten Mr. Rochester, reader,
amidst these changes of place ana fortune. Nor for a moment.
His idea was still with me ; because it was not a vapour sunshine
could disperse ; nor a sand-traced cfligy storms could wash away :
it was a name graven on a tablet, fated to last as long as the
marble it inscribed. The craving to know what had become of
him followed me everywhere ; when I was at Morton, I re-entered
my cottage every evening to think of that; and now at Moor
House, I sought my bedroom each night to brood over it.

In the course of my necessary correspondence with Mr. Briggs
about the will, I had inquired it he knew anything of Mr. Roches-
ter's present residence and state of health ; but, as St. John had

336 JANE EYRE.

conjectured, he was quite ignorant of all concerning him. I then
wrote to Mrs. Fairfax, entreating information on this subject. 1
had calculated with certainty on the step answering my end : I
felt sure it would elicit an early answer. I was astonished when
a fortnight passed without reply; but when two months wore
away, and day after day the post arrived and brought nothing for
me, I fell a prey to the keenest anxiety.

I wrote again : there was a chance of my first letter having
missed. Renewed hope followed renewed effort: it shone like
the former for some weeks, then, like it, it faded, flickered : not
a line, not a word reached me. When half a year wasted in
vain expectancy my hope died out : and then I felt dark indeed.

A fine spring shone round me, which I could not enjoy.
Summer approached. Diana tried to cheer me: she said I
looked ill, and wished to accompany me to the seaside. This St.
John opposed: he said I did not want dissipation, I wanted
employment ; my present life was too purposeless — I required an
aim ; and, I suppose, by way of supplying deficiences, he pro-
longed still further my lessons in Hindostanee, and grew more
urgent in requiring their accomplishment : and I, like a fool,
never thought of resisting him — I could not resist him.

One day I had come to my studies in lower spirits than usual ;
the ebb was occasioned by a poignantly felt disappointment.
Hannah had told me in the morning there was a letter for me,
and when I went down to take it, almost certain that the long-
looked-for tidings were vouchsafed me at last, I found only an
unimportant note from Mr. Briggs on business. The bitter
check had wrung from me some tears : and now as I sat poring
over the crabbed characters and flourishing tropes of an Indian
scribe, my eyes filled again.

St. John called me to his side to read ; in attempting to do
this my voice failed me : words were lost in sobs. He and I
were the only occupants of the parlour ; Diana was practising
her music in the drawing-room, Mary was gardening — it was a
very fine May-day, clear, sunny, and breezy. My companion
expressed no surprise at this emotion, nor did he question me as
to its cause ; he only said :

"We will wait a few minutes, Jane, till you are more com-
posed." And while I smothered the paroxysm with all haste, he
sat calm and patient, leaning on his desk and looking like a
physician watching with the eye of science an expected and fully-
understood crisis in a patient's malady. Having stifled my sobs,
wiped my eyes, and muttered something about not being very
weh that morning, I resumed my task, and succeeded in com-
pleting it. St. John put away my books and his, locked his
desk, and said :

" Now, Jane, you shall take a walk ; and with me."

" I will call Diana and Mary."

"No. I want only one companion this morning, and that
must be you : put on your things ; go out by the kitchen door :

JANE EYRE. 337

take the road towards the head of Marsh Glen : I will join you in
a moment."

I know no medium. I never in my life have known any
medium in my dealings with positive, hard characters, antago-
nistic to my own, between absolute submission and determined
revolt. I have always faithfully observed the one, up to the very
moment of bursting, sometimes with volcanic vehemence, into
the other; and as neither present circumstances warranted, nor
my present mood inclined me to mutiny, I observed careful
obedience to St. John's directions, and in ten minutes I was
treading the wild track of the glen, side by side with him.

The breeze was from the west : it came over the hills, sweet
with scent of heath and rush ; the sky was of stainless blue ; the
stream descending the ravine, swelled with past spring rains,
poured along plentiful and clear, catching golden gleams from
the sun, and sapphire tints from the firmament. As we
advanced and left the track, we trod a soft turf, mossy, fine and
emerald green, minutely enamelled with a tiny white flower, and
spangled with a star-like yellow blossom : the hills, meantime,
shut us quite in ; for the glen, towards its head, wound to their
very core.

"Let us rest here," said St. John, as we reached the first
stragglers of a battalion of rocks, guarding a sort of pass,
beyond which the beck rushed down a waterfall ; and where, still
a little further, the mountain shook off turf and flower, had only
heath for raiment, and crag for gem — where it exaggerated the
wild to the savage, and exchanged the fresh for the frowning —
where it guarded the forlorn hope of solitude, and a last refuge
for silence.

I took a scat : St. John stood near me. He looked up the
pass and down the hollow; his glance wandered away with the
stream, and returned to traverse the unclouded heaven which
coloured it : he removed his hat, let the breeze stir his hair and
kiss his brow. He seemed in communion with the genius of the
haunt : with his eye he bade farewell to something.

"And I shall see it again," he said aloud, " in dreams, when
I sleep by the Ganges : and again, in a more remote hour — when
another slumber overcomes me — on the shore of a darker
stream."

Strange words of a strange love 1 An austere patriot's passion
for his fatherland ! He sat down ; for half an hour we never
spoke ; neither he to me nor I to him : that interval past, he
recommenced :

"Jane, I go in six weeks; I have taken my berth in an East
Indiaman which sails on the twentieth of June."

" God will protect you ; for you have undertaken his work," I
answered.

" Yes," said he, " there is my glory and joy. 1 am the servant
of an infallible master. I am not going out under human guid-
ance, subject to the defective laws and erring control of my feeble

V

338 JANE EYRE,

feilow-worms : my king, my lawgiver, my captain, is the All-per-
fect. It seems strange to me that all round me do not burn to
enlist under the same banner,— to join in the same enterprise."

" All have not your powers : and it would be folly for the feeble
to wish to march with the strong."

"I do not speak to the feeble, or think of them: I address
only such as are worthy of the work, and competent to accom-
plish it."

"Those are few in number, and difficult to discover."

"You say truly: but when found, it is right to stir them up—
to urge and exhort them to the effort— to show them what their
gifts are, and why they were given— to speak Heaven's message
in their ear, to offer them direct from God, a place in the ranks
of His chosen."

" If they are really qualified for the task, will not their own
hearts be the first to inform them of it ?"

I felt as if an awful charm was framing round and gathering
over me: I trembled to hear some fatal word spoken which
would at once declare and rivet the spell.

" And what doesjwr heart say?" demanded St. John.

"My heart is mute— my heart is mute," I answered, struck
and thrilled.

"Then I must speak for it," continued the deep, relentless
voice. "Jane, come with me to India: come as my helpmeet
and fellow-labourer."

The glen and sky spun round : the hills heaved ! It was as if
I had heard a summons from Heaven — as if a visionary mes-
senger, like him of Macedonia, had enounced, "Come over and
help us !" But I was no apostle, — I could not behold the herald,
— I could not receive his call.

"Oh, St. John," I cried, "have some mercy!"

I appealed to one who, in the discharge of what he believed his
duty, knew neither mercy nor remorse. He continued :

" God and nature intended you for a missionary's wife. It is
not personal, but mental endowments they have given you : you
are formed for labour, not for love. A missionary's wife you
must — shall be. You shall be mine : I claim you — not for my
pleasure, but for my Sovereign's service."

" I am not fit for it : I have no vocation," I said.

He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irri-
tated by them. Indeed, as he leaned back against the crag
behind him, folded his arms on his chest, and fixed his counten-
ance, I saw he was prepared for a long and trying opposition,
and had taken in a stock of patience to last him to its close —
resolved, however, that that close should be conquest for him."

" Humility, Jane," said he, " is the ground-work of Christian
virtues : you say right that you are not fit for the work. Who is
fit for it ? Or who, that ever was truly called, believed himself
worthy of the summons ? I, for instance, am but dust and ashes.
With St. Paul, I acknowledge myself the chiefest of sinners :

JANE EYRE. 339

but I do not suffer this sense of my personal vileness to daunt
me. I know my Leader : that He is just as well as mighty ;
and while He has chosen a feeble instrument to perform a great
task, He will, from the boundless stores of His providence,
supply the inadequacy of the means to the end. Think like me,
Jane — trust like me. It is the Rock of Ages I ask you to lean
on : do not doubt but it will bear the weight of your human
weakness."

" I do not understand a missionary life : I have never studied
missionary labours."

" There, I, humble as I am, can give you the aid you want : I
can set you your task from hour to hour ; stand by you always ;
help you from moment to moment. This I could do in the
beginning: soon (for I know your powers) you would be as
strong and apt as myself, and would not require my help."

" But my powers— where are they for this undertaking? I do
not feel them. Nothing speaks or stirs in me while you talk. I
am sensible of no light kindling— no life auickening— no voice
counselling or cheering. Oh, I wish I could make you see how
much my mind is at this moment like a rayless dungeon, with
one shrinking fear fettered in its depths — the fear of being per-
suaded by you to attempt what I cannot accomplish !"

" I have an answer for you — hear it. I have watched you ever
since we first met : I have made you my study for ten months. I
have proved you in that time by sundry tests : and what have I
seen and elicited? In the village school I found you could per-
form well, punctually, uprightly, labour uncongenial to your
habits and inclinations; I saw you could perform it with
capacity and tact : you could win while you controlled. In the
calm with which you learnt you had become suddenly rich, I
read a mind clear of the vice of Demas— lucre had no undue
power over you. In the resolute readiness with which you cut
your wealth into four shares, keeping but one to yourself, and
relinquishing the three others to the claim of abstract justice, I
recognised a soul that revelled in the flame and excitement of
sacrifice. In the tractability with which, at my wish, you
forsook a study in which you were interested, and adopted
another because it interested me ; in the untiring assiduity with
which you have since persevered in it — in the unflagging energy
and unshaken temper with which you have met its difficulties— I
acknowledge the complement of the qualities I seek. Jane, you
are docile, diligent, disinterested, faithful, constant, and coura-
geous ; very gentle, and very heroic : cease to mistrust yourself —
I can trust you unreservedly. As a conductress of Indian
schools, and a helper amongst Indian women, your assistance
will be to me invaluable."

My iron shroud contracted round me; persuasion advanced
with slow sure step. Shut my eyes as I would, these last words
of his succeeded in making the way, which had seemed blocked
up, comparatively clear. My work, which had appeared so

340 JANE EYRE.

vague, so hopelessly diffuse, condensed itself as he proceeded,
and assumed a definite form under his shaping hand. He
waited for an answer. I demanded a quarter of an hour to
think, before I again hazarded a reply.

"Very willingly," he rejoined: and rising, he strode a little
distance up the pass, threw himself down on a swell of heath,
and there lay still.

" I can do what he wants me to do : I am forced to see and
acknowledge that," I meditated— "That is, if life be spared me.
But I feel mine is not the existence to be long protracted under
an Indian sun— What then ? He does not care for that: when
my time came to die he would resign me, in all serenity and
sanctity, to the God who gave me. The case is very plain
before me. In leaving England, I should leave a loved but
empty land— Mr. Rochester is not there : and if he were, what
is, what can that ever be to me ? My business is to live without
him now : nothing so absurd, so weak as to drag on from day to
day, as if I were waiting some impossible change in circum-
stances, which might reunite me to him. Of course (as
St. John once said) I must seek another interest in life to
replace the one lost : is not the occupation he now offers me
truly the most glorious man can adopt or God assign ? Is it not,
by its noble cares and sublime results, the one best calculated to
fill the void left by uptorn affections and demolished hopes ? I
believe I must say, Yes — and yet I shudder. Alas ! If I join
St. John, I abandon half myself: if I go to India, I go to pre-
mature death. And how will the interval between leaving
England for India and India for the grave, be filled? Oh, I
know well ! That, too, is very clear to my vision. By straining
to satisfy St. John till my sinews ache, I shall satisfy him — to
the finest central point and farthest outward circle of his expec-
tations. If I do go with him — if I do make the sacrifice he
urges, I will make it absolutely : I will throw all on the altar —
heart, vitals, the entire victim. He will never love me; but he
shall approve me ; 1 will show him energies he has not yet seen,
resources he has never suspected. Yes : I can work as hard as
he can ; and with as little grudging.

" Consent, then, to his demand is possible : but for one item —
one dreadful item. It is— that he asks me to be his wife, and
has no more of a husband's heart for me than that frowning
giant of a rock, down which the stream is foaming in yonder
gorge. He prizes me as a soldier would a good weapon ; and
that is all. Unmarried to him, this would never grieve me ; but
can 1 let him complete his calculations— coolly put into practice
his plans — go through the wedding ceremony? Can I receive
from him the bridal ring, endure all the forms of love (which I
doubt not he would scrupulously observe) and know that the
spirit was quite absent? Can I bear the consciousness that
every endearment he bestows is a sacrifice made on principle ?
No; such a martyrdom would be monstrous. I will never

JANE EYRE. 341

undergo it. As his sister I might accompany him — not as his
wife ; I will tell him so."

I looked towards the knoll : there he lay, still as a prostrate
column ; his face turned to me : his eye beaming watchful, and
keen. He started to his feet, and approached me.

" I am ready to go to India, if I may go free."

"Your answer requires a commentary," he said; "it is not
clear."

" You have hitherto been my adopted brother: I, your adopted
sister; let us continue as such: you and I had better not
marry."

He shook his head. "Adopted fraternity will not do in this
case. If you were my real sister it would be different : I should
take you, and seek no wife. But as it is, either our union must
be consecrated and sealed by marriage, or it cannot exist:
practical obstacles oppose themselves to any other plan. Do
you not see it, Jane? Consider a moment — your strong sense
will guide you."

I did consider : and still my sense, such as it was, directed me
only to the fact that we did not love each other as man and wife
should ; and therefore it inferred we ought not to marry. I said
so. " St. John," I returned, " I regard you as a brother — you,
me as a sister ; so let us continue."

"We cannot— we cannot," he answered, with short, sharp
determination: "it would not do. You have said you will go
with me to India: remember — you have said that."

" Conditionally."

" Well — well. To the main point — the departure with me from
England, the co-operation with me in my future labours — you do
not object. You have already as good as put your hand to the
plough : you are too consistent to withdraw it. You have but
one end to keep in view— how the work you have undertaken can
best be done. Simplify your complicated interests, feelings,
thoughts, wishes, aims ; merge all considerations in one purpose :
that of fulfilling with effect — with power— the mission of your
great Master. To do so, you must have a coadjutor — not a
brother; that is a loose tie: but a husband. I, too, do not want
a sister ; a sister might any day be taken from me. I want a
wife: the sole helpmeet I can influence efficiently in life, and
retain absolutely till death."

I shuddered as he spoke : I felt his influence in my marrow —
his hold on my limbs.

" Seek one elsewhere than in me, St. John : seek one fitted to
you."

" One fitted to my purpose, you mean — fitted to my vocation.
Again I tell you it is not the insignificant private individual — the
mere man, with the man's selfish senses— I wish to mate : it is
the missionary."

"And I will give the missionary my energies— it is all he wants

342 JANE EYRE.

—but not myself: that would be only adding the husk and shell
to the kernel. For them he has no use : I retain them."

"You cannot— you ought not. Do you think God will be
satisfied with half an oblation? Will He accept a mutilated
sacrifice ? It is the cause of God I advocate : it is under His
standard I enlist you. I cannot accept on His behalf a divided
allegiance : it must be entire."

"Oh! I will give my heart to God," I said. "You do not
want it."

I will not swear, reader, that there was not something of
repressed sarcasm both in the tone in which I uttered this sen-
tence, and in the feeling that accompanied it. I had silently
feared St. John till now, because I had not understood him. He
had held me in awe, because he had held me in doubt. How
much of him was saint, how much mortal, I could not heretofore
tell : but revelations were being made in this conference : the
analysis of his nature was proceeding before my eyes. I saw his
fallibilities : I comprehended them. I understood that, sitting
there where I did, on the bank of heath, and with that handsome
form before me, I sat at the feet of a man, erring as I. The veil
fell from his hardness and despotism. Having felt in him the
presence of these qualities, I felt his imperfection, and took
courage. I was with an equal — one with whom I might argue —
one whom, if I saw good, I might resist.

He was silent after I had uttered the last sentence, and I
presently risked an upward glance at his countenance. His eye,
bent on me, expressed at once stern surprise and keen inquiry.
"Is she sarcastic, and sarcastic to me/" it seemed to say.

" What does this signify ?"

" Do not let us forget that this is a solemn matter," he said
erelong; "one of which we may neither think nor talk lightly
without sin. I trust, Jane, you are in earnest when you say you
will give your heart to God : it is all I want. Once wrench your
heart from man, and fix it on your Maker, the advancement of
that Maker's spiritual kingdom on earth will be your chief delight
and endeavour ; you will be ready to do at once whatever furthers
that end. You will see what impetus would be given to your
efforts and mine by our physical and mental union in marriage :
the only union that gives a character of permanent conformity to
the destinies and designs of human beings : and, passing over
all minor caprices — all trivial difficulties and delicacies of feeling
— all scruple about the degree, kind, strength, or tenderness of
mere personal inclination — you will hasten to enter into that
union at once."

" Shall I ?" I said, briefly; and I looked at his features, beau-
tiful in their harmony, but strangely formidable in their still
severity, at his brow, commanding but not open; at his eyes,
bright and deep, and searching, but never soft; at his tall,
imposing figure ; and fancied myself in idea his wife. Oh ! it
would never do ! As his curate, his comrade, all would be right :

JANE EYRE. 343

I would cross oceans with him in that capacity; toil under
Eastern suns, in Asian deserts with him in tnat office : admire
and emulate his courage, and devotion, and vigour: accom-
modate quietly to his masterhood; smile undisturbed at his
ineradicable ambition ; discriminate the Christian from the man :
profoundly esteem the one, and freely forgive the other. I
should suffer often, no doubt, attached to him only in this capa-
city : my body would be under rather a stringent yoke, but my
heart and mind would be free. I should still have my unblightcd
self to turn to : my natural unenslaved feelings with which to
communicate in moments of loneliness. There would be recesses
in my mind, which would be only mine, to which he never came ;
and sentiments growing there fresh and sheltered, which his
austerity could never blight, nor his measured warrior-march
trample down : but as his wife — at his side always, and always
restrained, and always checked— forced to keep the fire of my
nature continually low, to compel it to burn inwardly and never
utter a cry, though the imprisoned flame consumed vital after
vital— this would be unendurable.

"St. John!" I exclaimed, when I had got so far in my
meditation.

" Well ?" he answered, icily.

"I repeat: I freely consent to go with you as your fellow-
missionary; but not as your wife; I cannot marry you and
become part of you."

"A part of me you must become," he answered steadily;
••otherwise the whole bargain is void. How can I, a man not
yet thirty, take out with me to India a girl of nineteen, unless she
be married to me ? How can we be for ever together— sometimes
in solitudes, sometimes amidst savage tribes — and unwed?"

••Very well," I said shortly; "under the circumstances, quite
as well as if I were either your real sister, or a man and a
clergyman like yourself."

" It is known that you are not my sister; I cannot introduce
you as such : to attempt it would be to fasten injurious suspicions
on us both. And for the rest, though you have a man's vigorous
brain, you have a woman's heart, and — it would not do "

" It would do," I affirmed with some disdain, "perfectly well.
I have a woman's heart ; but not where you are concerned , for
you I have only a comrade's constancy; a fellow-soldier's frank-
ness, fidelity, fraternity, if you like ; a neophvte's respect and
submission to his hierophant: nothing more—don't fear."

" It is what I want," he said, speaking to himself; " it is just
what I want. And there are obstacles in the way : they must be
hewn down. Jane, you would not repent marrying me; be cer-
tain of that ; we must be married. I repeat it : there is no other
way ; and undoubtedly enough of love would follow upon marriage
to render the union right even in your eyes."

•• I scorn your idea of love," I could not help saying; as I rose
up and stood before him, leaning my back against the rock, " I

344 JANE EYRE.

scorn the counterfeit sentiment you offer: yes, St. John, and I
scorn you when you offer it."

He looked at me fixedly : compressing his well-cut lips while
he did so. Whether he was incensed or surprised, or what, it
was not easy to tell: he could command his countenance
thoroughly.

" I scarcely expected to hear that expression from you," he
said. "I think I have done and uttered nothing to deserve
scorn."

I was touched by his gentle tone, and overawed by his high,
calm mien.

" Forgive me the words, St. John : but it is your own fault that
I have been roused to speak so unguardedly. _ You have intro-
duced a topic on which our natures are at variance— a topic we
should never discuss ; the very name of love is an apple of discord
between us— if the reality were required what should we do ?
How should we feel ? My dear cousin, abandon your scheme of
marriage — forget it."

"No," said he; "it is a long-cherished scheme, and the only
one which can secure my great end : but I shall urge you no fur-
ther at present. To-morrow, I leave home for Cambridge : I
have many friends there to whom I should wish to say farewell.
I shall be absent a fortnight — take that space of time to consider
my offer : and do not forget that if you reject it, it is not me you
deny, but God. Through my means, He opens to you a noble
career ; as my wife only can you enter upon it. Refuse to be my
wife, and you limit yourself for ever to a track of selfish ease and
barren obscurity. Tremble lest in that ease you should be num-
bered with those who have denied the faith, and are worse than
infidels!"

He had done. Turning from me, he once more —

"Looked to river, looked to hill j"

but this time his feelings were all pent in his heart : I was not
worthy to hear them uttered. As I walked by his side home-
ward, I read well in his iron silence all he felt towards me : the
disappointmeat of an austere and despotic nature, which has met
resistence where it expected submission — the disapprobation of a
cool, inflexible judgment, which has detected in another feelings
and views in which it has no power to sympathise : in short, as
a man, he would have wished to coerce me into obedience : it
was only as a sincere Christian he bore so patiently with my
perversity, and allowed so long a space for reflection and
repentance.

That night, after he had kissed his sisters, he thought proper
to forget even to shake hands with me, but left the room in
silence. I — who, though I had no love, had much friendship for
him— was hurt by the marked omission : so much hurt that tears
started to my eyes.

JANE EYRE. 345

"I see you and St. John have been quarrelling, Jane," said
Diana, " during your walk on the moor. But go after him ; he
is now lingering in the passage, expecting you— he will make it
up."

1 have not much pride under such circumstances: I would
always rather be happy than dignified ; and I ran after him. He
stood at the foot of the stairs.

"Good-night, St. John," said I.

"Good-night, Jane," he replied calmly.

"Then shake hands," I added.

What a cold, loose touch he impressed on my fingers ! He
was deeply displeased by what had occurred that day ; cordiality
would not warm, nor tears move him. No happy reconciliation
was to be had with him — no cheering smile or generous word :
but still the Christian was patient and placid ; and when I asked
him if he forgave me, he answered that he was not in the habit
of cherishing the remembrance of vexation : that he had nothing
to forgive, not having been offended.

And with that answer he left me. I would much rather he had
knocked me down

CHAPTER XXXV.

HE did not leave for Cambridge the next day, as he had said
he would. He deferred his departure a whole week ; and
during that time he made me feel what severe punishment a
good, yet stern, a conscientious, yet implacable man can inflict
on one who has offended him. Without one overt act of
hostility, one upbraiding word, he contrived to impress me
momently with the conviction that I was put beyond the pale of
his favour.

Not that St. John harboured a spirit of unchristian vindictive-
ness— not that he would have injured a hair of my head, if it
had been fully in his power to do so. Both by nature and
principle he was superior to the mean gratification of vengeance :
he had forgiven me for saying I scorned him and his love, but he
had not forgotten the words : and as long as he and I lived he
never would forget them. I saw by his look, when he turned to
me, that they were always written on the air between me and
him ; whenever I spoke they sounded in my voice to his ear: and
their echo toned every answer he gave me.

He did not abstain from conversing with me : he even called
me as usual each morning to join him at his desk ; and I fear
the corrupt man within had a pleasure unimparted to, and
unshared by, the pure Christian, in evincing witn what skill he
could, while acting and speaking apparently just as usual,
extract from every deed and every phrase the spirit of interest
and approval which had formerly communicated a certain

346 JANE EYRE.

austere charm to his language and manner. To me he was in
reality become no longer flesh, but marble ; his eye was a cold,
bright, blue gem ; his tongue, a speaking instrument — nothing
more.

All this was torture to me— refined, lingering torture. It kept
up a slow fire of indignation, and a trembling trouble of grief,
which harassed and crushed me altogether. I felt how — if I
were his wife, this good man, pure as the deep sunless source,
could soon kill me : without drawing from my veins a single
drop of blood, or receiving on his own crystal conscience the
faintest stain of crime. Especially I felt this when I made any
attempt to propitiate him. No ruth met my ruth. He experi-
enced no suffering from estrangement — no yearning after recon-
ciliation ; and though, more than once, my fast falling tears
blistered the page over which we both bent, they produced no
more effect on him than if his heart had been really a matter of
stone or metal. To his sisters, meantime, he was somewhat
kinder than usual : as if afraid that mere coldness would not
sufficiently convince me how completely I was banished and
banned, he added the force of contrast : and this I am sure he
did, not by malice, but on principle.

The night before he left home, happening to see him walking
in the garden about sunset, and remembering, as I looked at
him, that this man, alienated as he now was, had once saved my
life, and that we were near relations, I was moved to make a last
attempt to regain his friendship. I went out and approached
him, as he stood leaning over the little gate: I spoke to the
point at once.

" St. John, I am unhappy, because you are still angry with me.
Let us be friends."

" I hope we are friends," was the unmoved reply; while he
still watched the rising of the moon, which he had been contem-
plating as I approached.

" No, St. John, we are not friends as we were. You know
that."

" Are we not ? That is wrong. For my part, I wish you no ill
and all good."

" I believe you, St. John ; for I am sure you are incapable of
wishing any one ill : but as I am your kinswoman, I should
desire somewhat more of affection than that sort of general
philanthropy you extend to mere strangers."

"Of course," he said. "Your wish is reasonable; and I am
far from regarding you as a stranger."

This, spoken in a cool, tranquil tone, was mortifying and
baffling enough. Had I attended to the suggestions of pride
and ire, I should immediately have left him : but something
worked within me more strongly than those feelings could. I
deeply venerated my cousin's talent and principle. His friend-
ship was of value to me : to lose it tried me severely. I would
not so soon relinquish the attempt to reconquer it.

JANE EYRE. 347

" Must we part in this way, St. John ? And when you go to
India will you leave me so, without a kinder word than you have
yet spoken?"

He now turned quite from the moon, and faced me.

" When I go to India, Jane, will I leave you ? What ! do you
not go to India?"

" You said I could not unless I married you."

" And you will not marry me ? You adhere to that resolu-
tion ?"

Reader, do you know, as I do, what terror those cold people
can put into the ice of their questions ? How much of the fall of
the avalanche is in their anger ? of the breaking up of the frozen
sea in their displeasure ?

" No, St. John, I will not marry you. I adhere to my resolu-
tion."

The avalanche had shaken and slid a little forward ; but it did
not yet crash down.

" Once more, why this refusal?" he asked.

** Formerly," I answered, " because you did not love me ; now,
I reply, because you almost hate me. If I were to marry you,
you would kill me. You are killing me now."

His lips and cheeks turned white— quite white.

" I should kill you— I am killing you t Your words are such
as ought not to be used : violent, unfeminine, and untrue. They
betray an unfortunate state of mind: they merit severe reproof:
they would seem inexcusable ; but that it is the duty of man to
forgive his fellow, even until seventy-and-seven times."

I had finished the business now. While earnestly wishing to
erase from his mind the trace of my former offence, I had
stamped on that tenacious surface another and far deeper
impression : I had burnt it in.

" Now, you will indeed hate me," I said. "It is useless to
attempt to conciliate you : I see I have made an eternal enemy
of you."

A fresh wrong did these words inflict : the worse, because they
touched on the truth. That bloodless lip quivered to a temporary
spasm. I knew the steely ire I had whetted. I was heart-
wrung-.

" You utterly misinterpret my words," I said, at once seizing
his hand: " I have no intention to grieve or pain you — indeed, I
have not."

Most bitterly he smiled— most decidedly he withdrew his hand
from mine. "And now you recall your promise, and will not go
to India at all, I presume ?" said he, after a considerable pause.
" Yes, I will, as your assistant," I answered.

A very long silence succeeded. What struggle there was in
him between Nature and Grace in this interval, I cannot tell :
only singular gleams scintillated in his eyes, and strange
shadows passed over his face. He spoke at last.

" I before proved to you the absurdity of a single woman of

348 JANE EYRE.

your age proposing to accompany abroad a single man of mine.
I proved it to you in such terms as, I should have thought,
would have prevented your ever again alluding to the plan.
That you have done so, I regret — for your sake."

I interrupted him. Anything like a tangible reproach gave me
courage at once. " Keep to common sense, St. John : you are
verging on nonsense. You pretend to be shocked by what I
have said. You are not really shocked ; for, with your superior
mind, you cannot be either so dull or so conceited as to mis-
understand my meaning. I say again, I will be your curate, if
you like, but never your wife."

Again he turned lividly pale; but, as before, controlled his
passion perfectly. He answered emphatically, but calmly :

"A female curate, who is not my wife, would never suit me.
With me, then, it seems you cannot go ; but if you are sincere in
your offer, I will, while in town, speak to a married missionary,
whose wife needs a coadjutor. Your own fortune will make you
independent of the Society's aid; and thus you may still be
spared the dishonour of breaking your promise, and deserting the
hand you engaged to join."

Now I never had, as the reader knows, either given any
formal promise, or entered into any engagement ; and this lan-
guage was all much too hard, and much too despotic for the
occasion. I replied :

"There is no dishonour; no breach of promise ; no desertion
in the case. I am not under the slightest obligation to go to
India : especially with strangers. With you I would have ven-
tured much ; because I admire, confide in, and, as a sister, I
love you : but I am convinced that, go when and with whom I
would, I should not live long in that climate."

"Ah ! you are afraid of yourself," he said, curling his lip.

" I am. God did not give me my life to throw away; and to
do as you wish me would, I begin to think, be almost equivalent
to committing suicide. Moreover, before I definitely resolve on
quitting England, I will know for certain whether I cannot be of
greater use by remaining in it than by leaving it."

" What do you mean ?"

" It would be fruitless to attempt to explain ; but there is a
point on which I have long endured painful doubt ; and I can go
nowhere till by some means that doubt is removed."

"I know where your heart turns, and to what it clings. The
interest you cherish is lawless and unconsecrated. Long since
you ought to have crushed it : now you should blush to allude to
it. You think of Mr. Rochester ?"

It was true. I confessed it by silence.

" Are you going to seek Mr. Rochester?"

" I must find out what is become of him."

" It remains for me, then," he said, " to remember you in my
prayers ; and to entreat God for you, in all earnestness, that you
may not be a castaway. I had thought I recognised in you one

JANE EYRR. 349

of the chosen. But God sees not as man sees : His will be
done."

He opened the gate, passed through it, and strayed away
down the glen. He was soon out of sight.

On re-entering the parlour, I found Diana standing at the
window, looking very thoughtful. Diana was a great deal taller
than I: she put her hand on my shoulder, and, stooping,
examined my face.

"Jane," she said, "you are always agitated and pale now. I
am sure there is something the matter. Tell me what business
St. John and you have on hand. I have watched you this half-
hour from the window ; you must forgive my being such a spy,
but for a long time I have fancied I hardly know what. St. John
is a strange being "

She paused— I did not speak : soon she resumed :

" That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort
respecting you, I am sure : he has long distinguished you by a
notice and interest he never showed to any one else — to what
end ? I wish he loved you— does he, Jane P"

I put her cool hand to my hot forehead : " No, Di, not one
whit."

"Then why does he follow you so with his eyes — and get you
so frequently alone with him, and keep you so continually at his
side ? Mary and I had both concluded he wished you to marry
him."

" He does— he has asked me to be his wife."

Diana clapped her hands. " That is just what we hoped and
thought ! And you will marry him, Jane, won't you ? And then
he will stay in England."

" Far from that, Diana ; his sole idea in proposing to me is to
procure a fitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils."

" What ! He wishes you to go to India ?"

"Yes."

"Madness!" she exclaimed. "You would not live three
months there I am certain. You never shall go : you have not
consented— have you, Jane?"

" I have refused to marry him "

" And have consequently displeased him ?" she suggested.

" Deeply : he will never forgive me, I fear : yet I offered to
accompany him as his sister."

" It was frantic folly to do so, Jane. Think of the task you
undertook — one of incessant fatigue : where fatigue kills even the
strong; and you are weak. St. John— you know him— would
urge you to impossibilities : with him there would be no permis-
sion to rest during the hot hours; and unfortunately, I have
noticed, whatever he exacts you force yourself to perform. I am
astonished you found courage to refuse his hand. You do not
love him, then, Jane?"

" Not as a husband."

" Yet he is a handsome fellow."

350 JANE EYRE.

" And I am so plain, you see, Di. We should never suit."

" Plain ! You ? Not at all. You are much too pretty, as
well as too good, to be grilled alive in Calcutta." And again
she earnestly conjured me to give up all thoughts of going out
with her brother.

" I must, indeed," I said; "for when just now I repeated the
offer of serving him for a deacon, he expressed himself shocked
at my want of decency. He seemed to think I had committed^ an
impropriety in proposing to accompany him unmarried : as if I
had not from the first hoped to find in him a brother; and
habitually regarded him as such."

"What makes you say he does not love you, Jane ?"

"You should hear himself on the subject. He has again and
again explained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to
mate. He has told me I am formed for labour— not for love ;
which is true, no doubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed
for love, it follows that I am not formed for marriage. Would it
not be strange, Di, to be chained for life to a man who regarded
one but as a useful tool ?"

" Insupportable— unnatural— out of the question !"

"And then," I continued, "though I have only sisterly affec-
tion for him now, yet, if forced to be his wife, I can imagine the
possibility of conceiving an inevitable, strange, torturing kind of
love for him : because he is so talented ; and there is often a cer-
tain heroic grandeur in his look, manner, and conversation. In
that case my lot would become unspeakably wretched. He would
not want me to love him ; and if I showed the feeling, he would
make me sensible that it was a superfluity, unrequired by him,
unbecoming in me. I know he would."

" And yet St. John is a good man," said Diana.

" He is a good and a great man : but he forgets, pitilessly, the
feelings and claims of little people, in pursuing his own large
views. It is better, therefore, for the insignificant to keep out of
his way; lest, in his progress, he should trample them down.
Here he comes! I will leave you, Diana." And I hastened
upstairs as I saw him entering the garden.

But I was forced to meet him again at supper. During that
meal he appeared just as composed as usual. I had thought he
would hardly speak to me, and I was certain he had given up the
pursuit of his matrimonial scheme : the sequel showed I was mis-
taken on both points. He addressed me precisely in his ordinary
manner; or what had, of late, been his ordinary manner; one
scrupulously polite. No doubt he had invoked the help of the
Holy Spirit to subdue the anger I had aroused in him, and now
believed he had forgiven me once more.

For the evening reading before prayers, he selected the twenty-
first chapter of Revelation. It was at all times pleasant to listen
while from his lips fell the words of the Bible : never did his fine

JANE EYRE. 351

voice sound at once so sweet and full — never did his manner
become so impressive in its noble simplicity, as when he delivered
the oracles of God ; and to-night that voice took a more solemn
tone— that manner a more thrilling meaning— as he sat in the
midst of his household circle (the May moon shining in through
the uncurtained window, and rendering almost unnecessary the
light of the candle on the table) : as he sat there, bending over
the great old Bible, and described from its page the vision of the
new heaven and the new earth— told how God would come to
dwell with men, how He would wipe away all tears from their
eyes, and promised that there should be no more death, neither
sorrow nor crying, nor any more pain, because the former things
were passed away.

The succeeding words thrilled me strangely as he spoke them :
especially as I felt by the slight, indescribable alteration in
sound, that in uttering them his eye had turned to me.

"He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be
his God, and he shall be my son. But," was slowly, distinctly
read, " the fearful, the unbelieving, &c, shall have their part in
the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the
second death."

Henceforward, I knew what fate St. John feared for me.

A calm, subdued triumph, blent with a longing earnestness,
marked his enunciation of the last glorious verses of that chapter.
The reader believed his name was already written in the Lamb's
book of life, and he yearned after the hour which should admit
him to the city to which the kings of the earth bring their glory
and honour; which has no need of sun or moon to shine in
it, because the glory of God lightens it, and the Lamb is the
light thereof.

In the prayer following the chapter all his energy gathered — all
his stern zeal woke : he was in deep earnest, wrestling with God,
and resolved on a conquest. He supplicated strength for the
weak-hearted; guidance for wanderers from the fold; a return,
even at the eleventh hour, for those whom the temptations of the
world and the flesh were luring from the narrow path. He asked,
he urged, he claimed the boon of a brand snatched from the
burning. Earnestness is ever deeply solemn : first, as I listened
to that prayer, I wondered at his ; then, when it continued and
rose, I was touched by it, and at last awed. He felt the great-
ness and goodness of his purpose so sincerely : others who heard
him plead for it could not but feel it too.

The prayer over, we took leave of him : he was to go at a very
early hour in the morning. Diana and Mary having kissed him,
left the room — in compliance, I think, with a whispered hint from
him : I tendered my hand, and wished him a pleasant journey.

"Thank you, Jane. As I said, I shall return from Cambridge
in a fortnight: that space, then, is yet left you for reflection. If

352 JANE EYRE.

I listenfcl to human pride, I should say no more to you of mar-
riage with me ; but I listen to my duty, and keep steadily in view
my first aim— to do all things to the glory of God. My Master
was long-suffering : so will I be. I cannot give you up to perdi-
tion as a vessel of wrath : repent — resolve ; while there is yet
time. Remember, we are bid to work while it is day — warned
that 'the night cometh when no man shall work.' Remember
the fate of Dives, who had his good things in this life. God give
you strength to choose that better part which shall not be taken
from you I"

He laid his hand on my head as he uttered the last words. He
had spoken earnestly, mildly: his look was not, indeed, that of
a lover beholding his mistress; but it was that of a pastor
recalling his wandering sheep — or better, of a guardian angel
watching the soul for which he is responsible. All men of talent,
whether they be men of feeling or not ; whether they be zealots,
or aspirants, or despots — provided only they be sincere — have
their sublime moments: when they subdue and rule. I felt
veneration for St. John — veneration so strong that its impetus
thrust me at once to the point I had so long shunned. 1 was
tempted to cease struggling with him — to rush down the torrent
of his will into the gulf of his existence, and there lose my own.
I was almost as hard beset by him now as I had been once
before, in a different way, by another. I was a fool both times.
To have yielded then would have been an error of principle ; to
have yielded now would have been an error of judgment. So I
think at this hour, when I look back to the crisis through the
quiet medium of time : I was unconscious of folly at the instant.

I stood motionless under my hierophant's touch. My refusals
were forgotten — my fears overcome — my wrestlings paralysed.
The Impossible — i.e., my marriage with St. John — was fast
becoming the Possible. All was changing utterly, with a sudden
sweep. Religion called — Angels beckoned — God commanded —
life rolled together like a scroll — death's gates opening, showed
eternity beyond: it seemed, that for safety and bliss there, all
here might be sacrificed in a second. The dim room was full of
visions.

" Could you decide now ?" asked the missionary. The inquiry
was put in gentle tones ; he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that
gentleness ! how far more potent is it than force ! I could resist
St. John's wrath : I grew pliant as a reed under his kindness.
Yet I knew all the time, if I yielded now, I should not the less be
made to repent, some day, of my former rebellion. His nature
was not changed by one hour of solemn prayer: it was only
elevated.

"I could decide if I were but certain," I answered: "were I
but convinced that it is God's will I should marry you, J could
vow to marry you here and now— come afterwards what would !"

"My prayers are heard!" ejaculated St. John. He pressed

JANE EYRE. 353

his hand firmer on my head, as if he claimed me : he surrounded
me with his arm, almost as if he loved me (I say almost — I knew
the difference — for I had felt what it was to be loved : but, like
him, I had now put love out of the question, and thought only of
duty): I contended with my inward dimness of vision, before
which clouds yet rolled. I sincerely, deeply, fervently longed to
do what was right; and only that. "Show me, show me the
path I" I entreated of Heaven. I was excited more than 1 had
ever been; and whether what followed was the effect of
excitement the reader shall judge.

Ail the house was still ; for I believe all, except St. John and
myself, were now retired to rest. The one candle was dying out ;
the room was full of moonlight. My heart beat fast and thick :
I heard its throb. Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible
feeling that thrilled it through, and passed at once to my head
and extremities. The feeling was not like an electric shock ; but
it was quite as sharp, as strange, as startling : it acted on my
senses as if their utmost activity hitherto had been but torpor ;
from which they were now summoned, and forced to wake. They
rose expectant : eye and car waited, while the flesh quivered on
ray bones.

" What have you heard ? What do you see ?" asked St. John.
I saw nothing : but I heard a voice somewhere cry —

"Jane! Jane! Jane!" nothing more.

" O God ! what is it!" I gasped.

I might have said, "Where is it?" for it did not seem in the
room— nor in the house—nor in the garden : it did not come out
of the air — nor from under the earth — nor from overhead. I had
heard it — where, or whence, for ever impossible to know ! And
it was the voice of a human being — a known, loved, well-remem-
bered voice — that of Edward Fairfax Rochester; and it spoke in
pain and woe wildly, eerily, urgently.

" I am coming !" I cried. " Wait for me ! Oh, I will come !"
I flew to the door, and looked into the passage : it was dark. I
ran out into the garden : it was void.

" Where are you ?" I exclaimed.

The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back —
" Where are you ?* ' I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs :
all was moorland loneliness and midnight hush.

"Down, superstition I" I commented, as that spectre rose up
black by the black yew at the gate. " This is not thy deception,
nor thy witchcraft : it is the work of Nature. She was roused,
and did— no miracle— but her best."

I broke from St. John ; who had followed, and would have
detained me. It was my time to assume ascendency. My
powers were in play, and in force. I told him to forbear question
or remark; I desired him to leave me: 1 must and would be
alone. He obeyed at once. Where there is energy to command

VV

354 JANE EYRE.

well enough, obedience never fails. I mounted to my chamber ;
locked myself in ; fell on my knees ; and prayed in my way — a
different way to St. John's, but effective in its own fashion. I
seemed to penetrate very near a Mighty Spirit; and my soul
rushed out in gratitude at His feet. I rose from the thanksgiving
— took a resolve — and lay down, unscared, enlightened — eager
but for the daylight.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE daylight came. I rose at dawn. I busied myself for
an hour or two with arranging my things in my chamber
drawers and wardrobe, in the order wherein I should wish to
leave them during a brief absence. Meantime, I heard St. John
quit his room. He stopped at my door: I feared he would
knock — no, but a slip of paper was passed under the door. I
took it up. It bore these words :

" You left me too suddenly last night. Had you stayed but
a little longer, you would have laid your hand on the Christian's
cross and the angel's crown. I shall expect your clear decision
when I return this day fortnight. Meantime, watch and pray
that you enter not into temptation ; the spirit, I trust, is willing,
but the flesh, I see, is weak. 1 shall pray for you hourly. —
Yours,

"St. John."

"My spirit," I answered, mentally, "is willing to do what is
right ; and my flesh, I hope, is strong enough to accomplish the
will of Heaven, when once that will is distinctly known to me.
At any rate, it shall be strong enough to search— inquire — to
grope an outlet from this cloud of doubt, and find the open day
of certainty."

It was the first of June, yet the morning was overcast and
chilly ; rain beat fast on my casement. I heard the front-door
open and St. John pass out. Looking through the window, I
saw him traverse the garden. He took the way over the misty
moors in the direction of Whitcross. There he would meet the
coach.

"In a few more hours I shall succeed you in that track,
cousin," thought I. " I too have a coach to meet at Whitcross.
I too have some to see and ask after in England, before I depart
for ever."

It wanted yet two hours of breakfast-time. I filled the interval
in walking softly about my room, and pondering the visitation
which had given my plans their present bent. I recalled that

JANE EYRE. 355

inward sensation I had experienced : for I could recall it, with
all its unspeakable strangeness. I recalled the voice I had
heard; again I questioned whence it came, as vainly as before;
it seemed in me— not in the external world. I asked, was it a
mere nervous impression — a delusion ? I could not conceive or
believe : it was more like an inspiration. The wondrous shock
of feeling had come like the earthquake which shook the founda-
tions of Paul and Silas's prison : it had opened the doors of the
soul's cell, and loosed its bands— it had wakened it out of its
sleep, whence it sprang trembling, listening, aghast; then
vibrated thrice a cry on my startled ear, and in my quaking
heart, and through my spirit ; which neither feared nor shook,
but exulted as if in joy over the success of one effort it had been
privileged to make, independent of the cumbrous body.

" Ere many davs," I said, as I terminated my musings, " I
will know something of him whose voice seemed last night to
summon me. Letters have proved of no avail — personal inquiry
shall replace them."

At breakfast, I announced to Diana and Mary that I was
going a journey, and should be absent at least four days."

"Alone, Jane ?" they asked.

"Yes; it was to see, or hear news of, a friend about whom I
had for some time been uneasy."

They might have said, as I have no doubt they thought, that
they had believed me to be without any friends save them : for,
indeed, I had often said so ; but with their true natural delicacy,
they abstained from comment : except that Diana asked me if I
was sure I was well enough to travel. I looked very pale, she
observed. I replied that nothing ailed me save anxiety of mind,
which I hoped soon to alleviate.

It was easy to make my further arrangements; for I was
troubled with no inquiries — no surmises. Having once explained
to them that I could not now be explicit about my plans, they
kindly and wisely acquiesced in the silence with which I pursued
them; according to me the privilege of free action I should,
under similar circumstances, have accorded them.

I left Moor House at three o'clock p.m., and soon after four I
stood at the foot of the sign-post of Whitcross, waiting the
arrival of the coach which was to take me to distant Thornfield.
Amidst the silence of those solitary roads and desert hills, I
heard it approach from a great distance. It was the same
vehicle whence, a year ago, I had alighted one summer evening
on this very spot — how desolate, and hopeless, and objectless 1
It stopped as I beckoned. I entered — not now obliged to part
with my whole fortune as the price of its accommodation. Once
more on the road to Thornfield, I felt like the messenger pigeon
flying home.

It was a journey of six-and-thirty-hour». I had set out from

356 JANE EYRE.

Whitcross on a Tuesday afternoon, and early on the succeeding
Thursday morning the coach stopped to water its horses at a
wayside inn, situated in the midst of scenery whose green hedges
and large fields, and low pastoral hills (how mild of feature and
verdant of hue compared with the stern north-midland moors of
Morton !) met my eye like the lineaments of a once familiar face.
Yes, I knew the character of this landscape : I was sure we were
near my bourne.

"How far is Thornfield Hall from here?" I asked of the
ostler.

"Just two miles, ma'am, across the fields."

" My journey is closed," I thought to myself. I got out of the
coach, gave a box I had into the ostler's charge, to be kept till I
called for it; paid my fare: satisfied the coachman, and was
going : the brightening day gleamed on the sign of the inn, and
I read in gilt letters, "The Rochester Arms." My heart leapt
up: I was already on my master's very lands. It fell again : the
thought struck it :

" Your master himself may be beyond the British Channel, for
aught you know: and then, if he is at Thornfield Hall towards
which you hasten, who besides him is there ? His lunatic wife :
and you have nothing to do with him : you dare not speak to him
or seek his presence. You have lost your labour — you had
better go no farther," urged the monitor. "Ask information of
the people at the inn ; they can give you all you seek ; they can
solve your doubts at once. Go up to that man, and inquire if
Mr. Rochester be at home."

The suggestion was sensible ; and yet I could not force myself
to act on it. I so dreaded a reply that would crush me with
despair. To prolong doubt was to prolong hope. I might yet
once more see the Hall under the ray of her star. There was
the stile before me — the very fields through which I hurried,
blind, deaf, distracted, with a revengeful fury tracking and
scourging me, on the morning I fled from Thornfield : ere I
well knew what course I had resolved to take, I was in the midst
of them. How fast I walked ! How I ran sometimes! How I
looked forward to catch the first view of the well-known woods !
With what feelings I welcomed single trees I knew, and familial
glimpses of meadow and hill between them !

At last the woods rose ; the rookery clustered dark ; a loud
cawing broke the morning stillness. Strange delight inspired
me: on I hastened. Another field crossed — a lane threaded —
and there were the courtyard walls — the back offices : the house
itself, the rookery still hid. " My first view of it shall be in
front," I determined, "where its bold battlements will strike the
eye nobly at once, and where I can single out my master's very
window: perhaps he will be standing at it — he rises early:
perhaps he is now walking in the orchard, or on the pavement
in. front. Could I but see him ! — but a moment ! Surely in that

JANE EYRE. 357

case, I should not be so mad as to run to him ? I cannot tell— I
am not certain. And if I did— what then? God bless him!
What then ! Who would be hurt by my once more tasting the
life his glance can give me — I rave : perhaps at this moment he
is watching the sun rise over the Pyrenees, or on the tideless sea
of the south."

I had coasted along the lower wall of the orchard — turned its
angle : there was a gate just there, opening into the meadow,
between two stone pillars, crowned by stone balls. From behind
one pillar, I could peep round quietly at the full front of the
mansion. I advanced my head with precaution, desirous to
ascertain if any bedroom window-blinds were yet drawn up ;
battlements, windows, long front — all from this sheltered station
were at my command.

The crows sailing overhead perhaps watched me while I took
this survey. I wonder what they thought : they must have con-
sidered I was very careful and timid at first, and that gradually
I grew very bold and reckless. A peep, and then a long stare ;
and then a departure from my niche and a straying out into the
meadow: and a sudden stop full in front of the great mansion,
and a protracted, hardy gaze towards it. "What affectation of
diffidence was this at first 1" they might have demanded, "what
stupid regardlessness now ?"

Hear an illustration, reader.

A love, finds his mistress asleep on a mossy bank : he wishes
to catch a glimpse of her fair face without waking her. He
steals softly over the grass, careful to make no sound: he
pauses— fancying she has stirred: he withdraws ; not for world?
would he be seen. All is still : he again advances : he bends
above her ; a light veil rests on her features : he lifts it, bends
lower ; now his eyes anticipate the vision of beauty— warm, and
blooming, and lovely, in rest. How hurried was their first
glance 1 But how they fix 1 How he starts ! How he suddenly
and vehemently clasps in both arms the form he dared not, a
moment since, touch with his finger! How he calls aloud a
name, and drops his burden, and gazes on it wildly I He thus
grasps and cries, and gazes, because he no longer fears to waken
by any sound he can utter — by any movement he can make. He
thought his love slept sweetly : he finds she is stone dead.

I looked with timorous joy towards a stately house : I saw a
blackened ruin.

No need to cower behind a gate-post indeed !— to peep up at
chamber lattices, fearing life was astir behind them ! No need
to listen for doors opening— to fancy steps on the pavement or
the gravel-walk! The lawn, the grounds were trodden and
waste : the portal yawned void. The front was, as I had once
seen it in a dream, but a shell-like wall, very high and very
fragile-looking, perforated with paneless windows : no roof, no
battlements, no chimneys— all had crashed in.

358 JANE EYRE.

And there was the silence of death about it : the solitude of a
lonesome wild. No wonder that letters addressed to people here
have never received an answer : as well despatch epistles to a
vault in a church aisle. The grim blackness of the stones told
by what fate the Hall had fallen — by conflagration: but how
kindled? What story belonged to this disaster? What loss,
besides mortar and marble, and woodwork, had followed upon it?
Had life been wrecked, as well as property? If so, whose?
Dreadful question : there was no one here to answer it — not even
dumb sign, mute token.

In wandering round the shattered walls and through the
devastated interior, I gathered evidence that the calamity was
not of late occurrence. Winter snows, I thought, had drifted
through that void arch ; winter rains beaten in at those hollow
casements : for, amidst the drenched piles of rubbish, spring
had cherished vegetation ; grass and weed grew here and there
between the stones and fallen rafters. And oh ! where, mean-
time, was the hapless owner of this wreck ? In what land ?
Under what auspices ?„ My eye involuntarily wandered to the
grey church tower near the gates, and I asked, " Is he with
Darner de Rochester, sharing the shelter of his narrow marble
house ?"

Some answer must be had to these questions. I could find it
nowhere but at the inn, and thither, ere long, I returned. The
host himself brought my breakfast into the parlour. I requested
him to shut the door and sit down : I had some questions to ask
him. But when he complied, I scarcely knew how to begin ;
such horror had I of the possible answers. And yet the spec-
tacle of desolation I had just left, prepared me in a measure for
a tale of misery. The host was a respectable-looking, middle-
aged man.

" You know Thornfield Hall, of course ?" I managed to say at
last.

"Yes, ma'am; I lived there once."

" Did you ?" Not in my time I thought : you are a stranger
to me.

" I was the late Mr. Rochester's butler," he added.

The late ! I seemed to have received with full force the blow I
had been trying to evade.

" The late !" I gasped. " Is he dead ?"

"I mean the present gentleman, Mr. Edward's father," he
explained. I breathed again : my blood resumed its flow. Fully
assured by these words that Mr. Edward — my Mr. Rochester
(God bless him wherever he was !) — was at least alive ! was, in
short, "the present gentleman." Gladdening words! It
seemed I could hear all that was to come— whatever the dis-
closures might be — with comparative tranquillity. Since he was

JANE EYRE. 359

not in the grave, I could bear, I thought, to learn that he was at
the Antipodes.

" Is Mr. Rochester living at Thornfield Hall now?" I asked,
knowing, of course, what the answer would be, but yet desirous
of deferring the direct question as to where he really was.

" No, ma'am— oh, no I No one is living there. I suppose you
are a stranger in these parts, or you would have heard what
happened last autumn. — Thornfield Hall is quite a ruin : it was
burnt down just about harvest-time. A dreadful calamity 1 such
an immense quantity of valuable property destroyed: hardly
any of the furniture could be saved. The fire broke out at
dead of night, and before the engines arrived from Millcote,
the building was one mass of flame. It was a terrible spectacle :
I witnessed it myself."

" At dead of night 1" I muttered. Yes, that was ever the hour
of fatality at Thornfield. " Was it known how it originated ?" I
demanded.

"They guessed, ma'am : they guessed. Indeed, I should say
it was ascertained beyond a doubt. You are not perhaps
aware," he continued, edging his chair a little closer to the
table, and speaking low, " that there was a lady, — a— a lunatic,
kept in the house?"

" I have heard something of it."

" She was kept in very close confinement, ma'am ; people even
for some years was not absolutely certain of her existence. No
one saw her : they only knew by rumour that such a person was
at the Hall ; and who or what she was it was difficult to conjec-
ture. They said Mr. Edward had brought her from abroad ; and
some believed she had been his mistress. But a queer thing
happened a year since— a very queer thing."

I feared now to hear ray own story. I endeavoured to recall
him to the main fact.

"And this lady?"

"This lady, ma'am," he answered, "turned out to be Mr.
Rochester's wife! The discovery was brought about in the
strangest way. There was a young lady, a governess at the
Hall, that Mr. Rochester fell in Vt

" But the fire," I suggested.

"I'm coming to that, ma'am — that Mr. Edward fell in love
with. The servants say they never saw anybody so much in love
as he was : he was after her continually. They used to watch
him— servants will, you know, ma'am — and he set store on her
past everything: for all, nobody but him thought her so very
handsome. She was a little small thing, they say, almost like a
child; I never saw her myself, but I've heard Leah, the house-
maid, tell of her. Leah liked her well enough. Mr. Rochester
was about forty, and this governess not twenty; and you sec,

360 JANE EYRE.

when gentlemen of his age fall in love with girls, they are often
like as if they were bewitched : well, he would marry her."

" You shall tell me this part of the story another time," I said ;
" but now I have a particular reason for wishing to hear all about
the fire. Was it suspected that this lunatic, Mrs. Rochester, had
any hand in it ?"

"You've hit it, ma'am: it's quite certain that it was her and
nobody but her, that set it going. She had a woman to take
care of her called Mrs. Poole — an able woman in her line, and
very trustworthy, but for one fault — a fault common to a deal of
them nurses and matrons — she kept a private bottle of gin by her,
and now and then took a drop over much. It is excusable, for
she had a hard life of it : but still it was dangerous ; for when
Mrs. Poole was fast asleep, after the gin and water, the mad
lady, who was as cunning as a witch, would take the keys out of
her pocket, let herself out of her chamber, and go roaming about
the house, doing any wild mischief that came into her head.
They say she had nearly burnt her husband in his bed once : but
I don't know about that. However, on this night, she set fire
first to the hangings of the room next her own ; and then she got
down to a lower story, and made her way to the chamber that
had been the governess's — (she was like as if she knew somehow
how matters had gone on, and had a spite at her)— and she
kindled the bed there ; but there was nobody sleeping in it, for-
tunately. The governess had run away two months before ; and
for all Mr. Rochester sought her as if she had been the most
precious thing he had in the world, he never could hear a word
of her; and he grew savage — quite savage on his disappoint-
ment : he never was a wild man, but he got dangerous after he
lost her. He would be alone, too. He sent Mrs. Fairfax, the
housekeeper, away to her friends at a distance ; but he did it
handsomely, for he settled an annuity on her for life : and she
deserved it — she was a very good woman. Miss Adele, a ward
he had, was put to school. He broke off acquaintance with all
the gentry, and shut himself up, like a hermit, at the Hall."

" What ! did he not leave England ?"

"Leave England? Bless you, no! He would not cross the
door-stones of the house ; except at night, when he walked just
like a ghost about the grounds and in the orchard as if he had
lost his senses — which it is my opinion he had; for a more
spirited, bolder, keener gentleman than he was before that midge
of a governess crossed him, you never saw, ma'am. He was not
a man given to wine, or cards, or racing, as some are, and he
was not so very handsome ; but he had a courage and a will of
his own, if ever man had. I knew him from a boy, you see : and
for my part I have often wished that Miss Eyre had been sunk in
the sea, before she came to Thorafield Hall."

" Then Mr. Rochester was at home when the fire broke out ?"

"Yes, indeed was he; and he went up to the attics when all

JANE EYRE. 361

was burning above and below, and got the servants out of their
beds and helped them down himself— and went back to get his
mad wife out of her cell. And then they called out to him that
she was on the roof; where she was standing, waving her arms,
above the battlements, and shouting out till they could hear her
a mile off: I saw her and heard her with my own eyes. She was
a big- woman, and had long, black hair : we could see it streaming
against the flames as she stood. I witnessed, and several more
witnessed Mr. Rochester ascend through the skylight on to the
roof: we heard him call ' Bertha!' We saw him approach her:
and then, ma'am, she yelled, and gave a spring, and the next
minute she lay smashed on the pavement."

"Dead?"

"Dead? Ay, dead as the stones on which her brains and
blood were scattered."

"Good God!"

" You may well say so, ma'am : it was frightful 1"

He shuddered.

" And afterwards ?" I urged.

" Well, ma'am, afterwards the house was burnt to the ground :
there are only some bits of walls standing now."

" Were any other lives lost ?"

" No — perhaps it would have been better if there had."

" What do you mean ?"

" Poor Mr. Edward 1" he ejaculated, " I little thought ever to
have seen it ! Some say it was a just judgment on him for
keeping his first marriage secret, and wanting to take another
wife while he had one living: but I pity him for my part."

"You said he was alive?" I exclaimed.

"Yes, yes: he is alive; but many think he had better be
dead."

" Why ? How ?" My blood was again running cold.

" Where is he ?" I demanded. " Is he in England ?"

"Ay— ay— he's in England; he can't get out of England, I
fancy ; he s a fixture now."

What agony was this! And the man seemed resolved to
protract it.

" He is stone-blind," he said at last. " Yes— he is stone-blind
— is Mr. Edward."

I had dreaded worse. I had dreaded he was mad. I
summoned strength to ask what had caused the calamity.

" It was all his own courage, and a body may say, his kind-
ness, in a way, ma'am : he wouldn't leave the house till every
one else was out before him. As he came down the great stair-
case at last, after Mrs. Rochester had flung herself from the
battlements, there was a great crash — all fell. He was taken out

362 JANE EYRE.

from under the ruins, alive, but sadly hurt : a beam had fallen in
such a way as to protect him partly ; but one eye was knocked
out, and one hand so crushed that Mr. Carter, the surgeon, had
to amputate it directly. The other eye inflamed: he lost the
sight of that also. He is now helpless, indeed— blind and a
cripple."

" Where is he ? Where does he now live ?"

"At Ferndean, a manor-house, on a farm he has, about thirty
miles off: quite a desolate spot."

" Who is with him ?"

"Old John and his wife: he would have none else. He is
quite broken down they say."

" Have you any sort of conveyance ?"

"We have a chaise, ma'am, a very handsome chaise."

" Let it be got ready instantly ; and if your post-boy can drive
me to Ferndean before dark this day, I'll pay both you and him
twice the hire you usually demand."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable
antiquity, moderate size, and no architectural preten-
sions, deep buried in a wood. I had heard of it before. Mr.
Rochester often spoke of it, and sometimes went there. His
father had purchased the estate for the sake of the game covers.
He would have let the house ; but could find no tenant, in conse-
quence of its ineligible and insalubrious site. Ferndean then
remained uninhabited and unfurnished ; with the exception of
some two or three rooms fitted up for the accommodation of the
squire when he went there in the season to shoot.

To this house I came, just ere dark, on an evening marked by
the characteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small
penetrating rain. The last mile I performed on foot, having
dismissed the chaise and driver with the double remuneration I
had promised. Even when within a very short distance of the
manor-house, you could see nothing of it; so thick and dark
grew the timber of the gloomy wood about it. Iron gates between
granite pillars showed me where to enter, and passing through
them, I found myself at once in the twilight of close-ranked trees.
There was a grass-grown track descending the forest aisle,
between hoar and knotty shafts and under branched arches. I
followed it, expecting soon to reach the dwelling ; but it stretched
on and on, it wound far and farther: no sign of habitation or
grounds was visible,

JANE EYRE. 363

I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost ray way.
The darkness of natural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over
me. I looked round in search of another road. There was none :
all was interwoven stem, columnar trunk, dense, summer foliage
— no opening anywhere.

I proceeded : at last my way opened, the trees thinned a little ;
presently I beheld a railing, then the house — scarce, by this dim
light, distinguishable from the trees; so dank and green were
its decaying walls. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch,

I stood amidst a space of enclosed ground, from which the wood
swept away in a semicircle. There were no flowers, no garden-
beds ; only a broad gravel-walk girdling a grass-plat, and this
set in the heavy frame of the forest. The house presented two
pointed gables in its front; the windows were latticed and
narrow : the front-door was narrow too, one step led up to it.
The whole looked, as the host of the Rochester Arms had said,

II quite a desolate spot." It was as still as a church on a week-
day : the pattering rain on the forest leaves was the only sound
audible in its vicinage.

" Can there be life here ?" I asked.

Yes : life of some kind there was ; for I heard a movement —
that narrow front-door was unclosing, and some shape was about
to issue from the grange.

It opened slowly : a figure came out into the twilight and stood
on the step ; a man without a hat : he stretched forth his hand
as if to feel whether it rained. Dusk as it was, I had recognized
him— it was my master, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no
other.

I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him —
to examine him, myself unseen, and alas ! to him invisible. It
was a sudden meeting, and one in which rapture was kept well in
check by pain. I had no difficulty in restraining my voice from
exclamation, my step from hasty advance.

His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever :
his port was still erect, his hair was still raven-black ; nor were
his features altered or sunk; not in one year's space, by any
sorrow, could his athletic strength be quelled, or his vigorous

f)rime blighted. But in his countenance I saw a change : that
ooked desperate and brooding — that reminded me of some
wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous to approach
*n his sullen woe. The caged eagle, whose gold-ringed eyes
cruelty has extinguished, might look as looked that sightless
Samson.

And, reader, do yoy think I feared him in his blind ferocity ? —
if you do, you little know me. A soft hope blent with my sorrow
that soon I should dare to drop a kiss on that brow of rock, and
on those lips so sternly sealed beneath it : but not yet. I would
not accost him yet.

364 JANE EYRE.

He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly
towards the grass-plat. Where was his daring stride now?
Then he paused, as if he knew not which way to turn. He lifted
his hand and opened his eyelids ; gazed blank, and with a
straining effort, on the sky, and towards the amphitheatre of
trees : one saw that all to him was void darkness. He stretched
his right hand (the left arm, the mutilated one, he kept hidden in
his bosom) ; he seemed to wish by touch to gain an idea of what
lay around him : he met but vacancy still ; for the trees were
some yards off where he stood. He relinquished the endeavour,
folded his arms, and stood quiet and mute in the rain, now falling
fast on his uncovered head. At this moment John approached
him from some quarter.

"Will you take my arm, sir?" he said; "there is a heavy
shower coming on : had you not better go in ?"
" Let me alone," was the answer.

John withdrew, without having observed me. Mr. Rochester
now tried to walk about: vainly, — all was too uncertain. He
groped his way back to the house, and, re-entering it, closed the
door.

I now drew near and knocked: John's wife opened for me.
" Mary," I said, " how are you ?"

She started as if she had seen a ghost : I calmed her. To her
hurried "Is it really you, Miss, come at this "late hour to this
lonely place ?" I answered by taking her hand ; and then I fol-
lowed her into the kitchen, where John now sat by a good fire.
I explained to them, in few words, that I had heard all which
had happened since I left Thornfield, and that I was come to see
Mr. Rochester. I asked John to go down to the turnpike-
house, where I had dismissed the chaise, and bring my trunk,
which I had left there: and then, while I removed my bonnet
and shawl, I questioned Mary as to whether I could be accom-
modated at the Manor House for the night ; and finding that
arrangements to that effect, though difficult, would not be
impossible, I informed her I should stay. Just at this moment,
the parlour-bell rang.

" When you go in," said I, "tell your master that a person
wishes to speak to him, but do not give my name."

" I don't think he will see you," sl^e answered; "he refuses
everybody."
When she returned, I inquired what he had said.
"You are to send in your name and your business," she
replied. She then proceeded to fill a glass with water, and place
it on a tray, together with candles.

" Is that what he rang for ?" I asked. *
"Yes : he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is
blind."

" Give the tray to me, I will carry it in."

JANE EYRE. 365

I took it from her hand : she pointed me out the parlour door.
The tray shook as I held it ; the water spilt from the glass ; my
keart struck my ribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for
me, and shut it behind me.

This parlour looked gloomy : a neglected handful of fire burnt
low in the grate ; and leaning oyer it, with his head supported
against the high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind
tenant of the room. His old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed
out of the way, and coiled up as if afraid of being inadvertently
trodden upon. Pilot pricked up his ears when I came in : then
he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded towards
me : he almost knocked the tray from my hands. I set it on the
table; then patted him, and said softly, "Lie down I" Mr.
Rochester turned mechanically to see what the commotion was :
but as he saw nothing, he returned and sighed.

" Give me the water, Mary," he said.

I approached him with the now only half-filled glass : Pilot
followed me, still excited.

"What is the matter ?" he inquired.

"Down, Pilot 1" I again said. He checked the water on its
way to his lips, and seemed to listen ; he drank, and put the
glass down. "This is you, Mary, is it not?"

" Mary i9 in the kitchen," I answered.

He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing
where I stood, ; he did not touch me. "Who is this? Who is
this?" he demanded, trying, as it seemed, to see with those
sightless eyes — unavailing and distressing attempt 1 "Answer
me — speak again !" he ordered, imperiously and aloud.

" Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what
was in the glass," I said.

" Who is it ? What is it ? Who speaks ?"

"Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I
came only this evening," I answered.

"Great God!— what delusion has come over me? What
sweet madness has seized me ?

"No delusion — no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for
delusion, your health too sound for frenzy."

" And where is the speaker ? Is it only a voice ? Oh 1 I can'
not see, but I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst.
Whatever— whoever you arc— be perceptible to the touch or I
cannot live!"

He groped ; I arrested hi9 wandering hand, and prisoned it in
both mine.

"Her very finders!" he cried. "Her small, slight fingers!
If so, there must be more of her 1"

The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was

366 JANE EYRE.

seized, my shoulder— neck— waist— I was entwined, and gathered
to him.

"Is it Jane? What is it? This is her shape— this is her
size "

"And this her voice," I added. " She is all here : her heart
too. God bless you, sir ! I am glad to be so near you again."

"Jane Eyre ! — Jane Eyre !" was all he said.

"My dear master," I answered, "I am Jane Eyre: I have
found you out — I am come back to you."

" In truth ?— in the flesh ? My living Jane ?"

" You touch me, sir— you hold me, and fast enough ; I am not
cold like a corpse, nor vacant like air, am I ?"

" My living darling ! These are certainly her limbs, and these
her features ; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery. It is
a dream ; such dreams as I have had at night when I have
clasped her once more to my heart, as I do now ; and kissed her,
as thus — and felt that she loved me, and trusted that she would
not leave me."

" Which I never will, sir, from this day."

" Never will, says the vision ? But I always woke and found
it an empty mockery ; and I was desolate and abandoned — my
life dark, lonely, hopeless — my soul athirst and forbidden to
drink — my heart famished and never to be fed. Gentle, soft
dream, nestling in my arms now, you will fly, too, as your sisters
have all fled before you : but kiss me before you go — embrace
me, Jane."

"There, sir— and there !"

I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes — I
swept his hair from his brow, and kissed that too. He suddenly
seemed to arouse himself: the conviction of the reality of all this
seized him.

" It is you — is it Jane ? You are come back to me then ?"

"lam."

"And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream ?
And you are not a pining outcast amongst strangers ?"

" No, sir; I am an independent woman now."
" Independent ! What do you mean, Jane ?"

" My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand
pounds."

"Ah! that is practical — this is real!" he cried. "I should
never dream that. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of
hers, so animating and piquant, as well as soft : it cheers my
withered heart ; it puts life into it. What, Jane ! Are you an
independent woman ? A rich woman ?"

"Quite rich, sir. If you won't let me live with you, I can
build a house of my own close up to your door, and you may

JANE EYRE. 367

come and sit in my parlour when you want company of an
evening."

11 But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends
who will look after you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to a
blind laraeter like me ?"

"I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my
own mistress."
" And you will stay with me ?"

" Certainly— unless you object. I will be your neighbour, your
nurse, your housekeeper. I find you lonely : I will be your com-
panion — to read to you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to wait
on you, to be eyes and hands to you. Cease to look so melan-
choly, my dear master ; you shall not be left desolate so long as
I live 1"

He replied not. He seemed serious — abstracted ; he sighed ;
lie half-opened his lips as if to speak ; he closed them again. I
felt a little embarrassed. Perhaps I had too rashly over-leaped
conventionalities; and he, like St. John, saw impropriety in my
inconsiderateness. I had indeed made my proposal from the
idea that he wished and would ask me to be his wife : an
expectation, not the less certain because unexpressed, had
buoyed me up, that he would claim me at once as his own.
But no hint to that effect escaping him, and his countenance
becoming more overcast, I suddenly remembered that I might
have been all ,wrong, and perhaps playing the fool unwittingly ;
and I began gently to withdraw myself from his arms — but he
eagerly snatched me closer.

" No — no — Jane; you must not go. No — I have touched you,
heard you, felt the comfort of your presence— the sweetness of
your consolation : I cannot give up these joys. I have little left
in myself — I must have you. The world may laugh — may call
me absurd, selfish— but it docs not signify. My very soul
demands you : it will be satisfied : or it will take deadly ven-
geance on its frame."

"Well, sir, I will stay with you : I have said so."
" Yes — but you understand one thing by staying with me ; and
I understand another. You, perhaps, could make up your mind
to be about my hand and chair — to wait on me as a kind little
nurse (for you have an affectionate heart and a generous spirit,
which prompt you to make sacrifices for those you pity,) and that
ought to suffice for me no doubt. I suppose I should now enter-
tain none but fatherly feelings for you : do you think so ? Come
—tell me."

14 1 will think what you like, sir; I am content to be only your
nurse, if you think it better."

11 But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet; you are young —
you must marry one day."

" I don't care about being married."

368 JANE EYRE.

" You should care, Janet : if I were what I once was, I would
try to make you care— but— a sightless block 1"

He relapsed again into gloom. I, on the contrary, became
more cheerful, and took fresh courage ; these last words gave me
an insight as to where the difficulty lay; and as it was no
difficulty with me, I felt quite relieved from my previous embar-
rassment. I resumed a livelier vein of conversation.

" It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you," said I,
parting his thick and long uncut locks : " for I see you are being
metamorphosed into a lion, or something of that sort. You
have a ' faux air' of Nebuchadnezzar in the fields about you, that
is certain : your hair reminds me of eagles' feathers ; whether
your nails are grown like birds' claws or not, 1 have not yet
noticed."

" On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails," he said, draw-
ing the mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me.
"It is a mere stump — a ghastly sight! Don't you think so,
Jane?"

" It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes— and the
scar of fire on your forehead : and the worst of it is, one is in
danger of loving you too well for all this ; and making too much
of you."

"I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my
arm and my cicatrised visage."

# " Did you ? Don't tell me so — lest I should say something
disparaging to your judgment. Now, let me leave you an
instant, to make a better fire, and have the hearth swept up.
Can you tell when there is a good fire ?"

" Yes : with the right eye I see a glow — a ruddy haze."

"And you see the candles ?"

"Very dimly — each is a luminous cloud."

"Can you see me?"

" No, my fairy : but I am only too thankful to hear and feel
you."

"When do you take supper?"

" I never take supper."

"But you shall have some to-night. I am hungry: so are
you, I dare say, only you forget."

Summoning Mary, I soon had the room in more cheerful
order: I prepared him, likewise, a comfortable repast. My
spirits were excited, and with pleasure and ease I talked to him
during supper, and for a long time after. There was no harass-
ing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him : for
with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him : all
I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Delightful
consciousness ! It brought to life and light my whole nature : in
his presence I thoroughly lived j and he lived in mine. Blind as

JANE EYRE. 369

he was, smiles played over his face, joy dawned on his forehead
his lineaments softened and warmed.

After supper he began to ask me many questions, of where I
had been, what I had been doing, how I had found him out ; but
I gave him only very partial replies ; it was too late to enter into
particulars that night. Besides, I wished to touch no deep-
thrilling chord— to open no fresh well of emotion in his heart :
my sole present aim was to cheer him. Cheered, as I have said,
he was : and yet but by fits. If a moment's silence broke the
conversation, he would turn restless, touch me, then say,
"Jane."

"You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain
of that?"

" I conscientiously believe so, Mr. Rochester."

" Yet how on this dark and doleful evening could you so sud-
denly rise on my lone hearth ? I stretched my hand to take a
glass of water from a hireling, and it was given me by you : I
asked a question, expecting John's wife to answer me, and your
voice spoke at my ear."

" Because I had come in, in Mary's stead, with the tray."

"And there is enchantment in the very hour I am now spend-
ing with you. Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I
have dragged on for months past? Doing nothing, expecting
nothing ; merging night in day ; feeling but the sensation of
cold when I let the fire go out, of hunger when I forgot to eat :
and then a ceaseless sorrow, and, at times, a very delirium of
desire to behold my Jane again. Yes: for her restoration I
longed, far more than for that of my lost sight. How can it be
that Jane is with me, and says she loves me? Will she not
depart as suddenly as she came? To-morrow, I fear, I shall
find her no more."

A commonplace, practical reply, out of the train of his own
disturbed ideas, was, I was sure, the best and most reassuring
for him in this frame of mind. I passed my finger over his eye-
brows, and remarked that they were scorched, and that I would
applv something which should make them grow as broad and
black as ever.

I' Where is the use of doing me good in any way, beneficent
spirit, when, at some fatal moment, you will again desert me —
passing like a shadow, whither and how to me unknown ; and for
me remaining afterwards undiscoverable ?"

" Have you a pocket-comb about you, sir?"

"What for, Jane?"

"Just to comb out this shaggy black mane. I find you rather
alarming, when I examine you close at hand : you talk of my
being a fairy ; but 1 am sure you are more like a brownie."

"Am I hideous, Jane?"

" Very, sir: you always were, you know."

X

370 JANE EYRE.

" Humph ! The wickedness has not been taken out of you,
wherever you have sojourned."

" Yet I have been with good people ; far better than you : a
hundred times better people ; possessed of ideas and views you
never entertained in your life : quite more refined and exalted."

" Who the deuce have you been with ?"

"If you twist in that way you will make me pull the hair out
of your head ; and then I think you will cease to entertain doubts
of my substantiality."

" Who have you been with, Jane ?"

"You shall not get it out of me to-night, sir; you must wait
till to-morrow ; to leave my tale half told will, you know, be a
sort of security that I shall appear at your breakfast table to
finish it. By-the-by, I must mind not to rise on your hearth with
only a glass of water, then : I must bring an egg at the least, to
say nothing of fried ham."

" You mocking changeling — fairy-born and human-bred ! You
make me feel as I have not felt these twelve months. If Saul
could have had you for his David, the evil spirit would have been
exorcised without the aid of the harp."

"There, sir, you are redd up and made decent. Now I'll
leave you : I have been travelling these last three days, and I
believe I am tired. Good-night."

"Just one word, Jane: were there only ladies in the house
where you have been ?"

I laughed and made my escape, still laughing as I ran up-
stairs. "A good idea!" I thought, with glee. "I see I have
the means of fretting him out of his melancholy for some time to
come."

Very early the next morning, I heard him up and astir, wan-
dering from one room to another. As soon as Mary came down
I heard the question: "Is Miss Eyre here?" Then: "Which
room did you put her into ? Was it day ? Is she up ? Go and
ask her if she wants anything; and when she will come down."

I came down as soon as I thought there was a prospect of
breakfast. Entering the room very softly, I had a view of him
before he discovered my presence. It was mournful, indeed, to
witness the subjugation of that vigorous spirit to a corporeal
infirmity. He sat in his chair— still, but not at rest : expectant
evidently; the lines of now habitual sadness marking his strong
features. His countenance reminded one of a lamp quenched,
waiting to be relit — and alas ! it was not himself that could now
kindle the lustre of animated expression : he was dependent on
another for that office ! I had meant to be gay and careless, but
the powerlessness of the strong man touched my heart to the
quick : still I accosted him with what vivacity I could.

" It is a bright, sunny morning, sir," I said. " The rain is over

JANE EYRE. 371

and gone, and there is a tender shining after it : you shall have
a walk soon."

I had wakened the glow : his features beamed.

"Oh, you are indeed there, my skylark 1 Come to me. You
are not gone: not vanished? I heard one of your kind an hour
ago, singing high in the wood : but its song had no music for
me, any more than the rising sun had rays. All the melody on
earth is concentrated in my Jane's tongue to rny ear (I am glad
it is not naturally a silent one) : all the sunshine I can feel is in
her presence."

The water stood in ray eyes to hear this avowal of his depen-
dence : just as if a royal eagle, chained to a perch, should be
forced to entreat a sparrow to become its purveyor. But I would
not be lachrymose: I dashed off the salt drops, and busied
myself with preparing breakfast.

Most of the morning was spent in the open air. I led him out
of the wet and wild wood into some cheerful fields : I described
to him how brilliantly green they were; how the flowers and
hedges looked refreshed ; how sparklingly blue was the sky. I
sought a seat for him in a hidden and lovely spot : a dry stump
of a tree ; nor did I refuse to let him, when seated, place me on
his knee: why should I, when both he and I were happier near
than apart ? Pilot lay beside us : all was quiet. He broke out
suddenly while clasping me in his arms :

"Cruel, cruel deserter! Oh, Jane, what did I feel when I
discovered you had fled from Thornfield, and when I could
nowhere find you ; and, after examining your apartment, ascer-
tained that you had taken no money, nor anything which could
serve as an equivalent ! A pearl necklace I had given you lay
/ untouched in its little casket ; your trunks were left corded and
locked as they had been prepared for the bridal tour. What could
my darling do, I asked, left destitute and penniless? And what
did she do 1 Let me hear now."

Thus urged, I began the narrative of my experience for the last
year. I softened considerably what related to the three days of
wandering and starvation, because to have told him all would
have been to inflict unnecessary pain: the little I did say
lacerated his faithful heart deeper than I wished.

I should not have left him thus, he said, without any means of
making my way: I should have told him my intention. I should
have confided in him : he would never have forced me to be his
mistress. Violent as he had seemed in his despair, he, in truth,
loved me far too well and too tenderly to constitute himself my
tyrant : he would have piven me half his fortune, without demand-
ing so much as a kiss in return, rather than I should have flung
myself friendless on the wide world. I had endured, he was
certain, more than I had confessed to him.

"Well, whatever my sufferings had been, they were very

372 JANE EYRE.

short," I answered ; and then I proceeded to tell him how I had
been received at Moor House ; how I had obtained the office of
schoolmistress, &c. The accession of fortune, the discovery of
my relations, followed in due order. Of course, St. John Rivers'
name came in frequently in the progress of my tale. When I
had done, that name was immediately taken up.

" This St. John, then, is your cousin ?"

"Yes."

" You have spoken of him often ; did you like him ?"

" He was a very good man, sir ; I could not help liking him."

" A good man ? Does that mean a respectable, well-conducted
man of fifty ? Or what does it mean ?"

" St. John was only twenty-nine, sir."

"' Jeune encore,' as the French say. Is he a person of low
stature, phlegmatic, and plain ? A person whose goodness
consists rather in his guiltlessness of vice, than in his prowess in
virtue?"

".He is untiringly active. Great and exalted deeds are what
he lives to perform."

"But his brain? That is probably rather soft? He means
well : but you shrug your shoulders to hear him talk ?"

"He talks little, sir: what he does say is ever to the point.
His brain is first-rate, I should think not impressible, but
vigorous."

" Is he an able man, then ?"

"Truly able."

"A thoroughly educated man ?"

" St. John is an accomplished and profound scholar."

" His manners, I think, you said are not to your taste ? —
priggish and parsonic ?"

"I never mentioned his manners; but, unless I had a very
bad taste, they must suit it ; they are polished, calm, and gentle-
manlike."

" His appearance — I forget what description you gave of his
appearance ; a sort of raw curate, half strangled with his white
neckcloth, and stilted up on his thick-soled high-lows, eh ?"

"St. John dresses well. He is a handsome man: tall, fair,
with blue eyes, and a Grecian profile."

{Aside) " Damn him !"— {To me) " Did you like him, Jane ?"

"Yes, Mr. Rochester, I liked him: but you asked me that
before."

I perceived, of course, the drift of my interlocutor. Jealousy
had got hold of him : she stung him ; but the sting was salutary :
it gave him respite from the gnawing fang of melancholy. I
would not, therefore, immediately charm the snake.

"Perhaps you would rather not sit any longer on my knee,
Miss Eyre?" was the next somewhat unexpected observation.

JANE EYRE. 373

"Why not, Mr. Rochester?"

" The picture you have just drawn is suggestive of a rather too
overwhelming contrast. Your words have delineated very prettily
a graceful Apollo : he is present to vour imagination— tall, fair,
blue-eyed, and with a Grecian profile. Your eyes dwell on a
Vulcan — a real blacksmith, brown, broad-shouldered ; and blind
and lame into the bargain."

" 1 never thought of it before; but you certainly are rather like
Vulcan, sir."

"Well — you can leave me, ma'am: but before you go" (and
he retained me by a firmer grasp than ever), "you will be
pleased just to anwer me a question or two." He paused.

" What questions, Mr. Rochester?"

Then followed this cross-examination.

" St. John made you schoolmistress of Morton before he knew
you were his cousin ?"

"Yes."

"You would often see him? He would visit the school
sometimes?"

"Daily."

" He would approve of your plans, Jane ? I know they would
be clever, for you are a talented creature !"

" He approved of them— yes."

" He would discover many things in you he could not have
expected to find? Some of your accomplishments are not
ordinary."

" I don't know about that."

"You had a little cottage near the school, you say: did he
ever come there to see you ?"

"Now and then."

"Of an evening?"

"Once or twice."

A pause.

" How long did you reside with him and his sisters after the
cousinship was discovered ?"

" Five months."

" Did Rivers spend much time with the ladies of his family ?"

"Yes; the back parlour was both his study and ours: he sat
near the window, and we by the table."

" Did he study much ?"

"A good deal."

"What?"

" Hindostanee."

"And what did you do meantime?"

" I learnt German, at first."

" Did he teach you ?"

374 JANE EYRE.

" He did not understand German."

" Did he teach you nothing ?"

"A little Hindostanee."

" Rivers taught you Hindostanee ?"

''Yes, sir."

"And his sisters also ?"

"No."

"Only you?"

"Only me."

" Did you ask to learn ?"

"No."

" He wished to teach you ?"

"Yes."

A second pause.

" Why did he wish it ? Of what use could Hindostanee be to
you?"

" He intended me to go with him to India."

" Ah ! here I reach the root of the matter. He wanted you to
marry him ?"

" He asked me to marry him."

" That is a fiction— an impudent invention to vex me."

" I beg your pardon, it is the literal truth : he asked me more
than once, and was as stiff about urging his point as ever you
could be."

" Miss Eyre, I repeat it, you can leave me. How often am I
to say the same thing? Why do you remain pertinaciously
perched on my knee, when I have given you notice to quit ?" .

" Because I am comfortable there."

"No, Jane, you are not comfortable there, because your heart
is not with me : it is with this cousin — this St. John. Oh, till
this moment, I thought my little Jane was all mine ! I had a
belief she loved me even when she left me : that was an atom
of sweet in much bitter. Long as we have been parted, hot
tears as I have wept over our separation, I never thought that
while I was mourning her she was loving another! But it is
useless grieving. Jane, leave me : go and marry Rivers."

" Shake me off, then, sir— push me away, for I'll not leave you
of my own accord."

"Jane, I ever like your tone of voice: it still renews hope, it
sounds so truthful. When I hear it, it carries me back a year.
I forget that you have formed a new tie. But I am not a fool-
go "

" Where must I go, sir ?"

"Your own way— with the husband you have chosen."

"Who is that?"

" You know— this St. John Rivers."

" He is not my husband, nor ever will be. He does not love

JANE EYRE. 375

me: I do not love him. He loves fas he can love, and that is not
as you love) a beautiful young lady called Rosamond. He
wanted to marry me only because he thought I should make a
suitable missionary's wife, which she would not have done. He
is good and great, but severe ; and for me cold as an iceberg.
He is not like you, sir: I am not happy at his side, nor near him,
nor with him. He has no indulgence for me — no fondness. He
sees nothing attractive in me ; not even youth — only a few useful
mental points. Then I must leave you, sir, to go to him ?"

I shuddered involuntarily, and clung instinctively closer to my
blind but beloved master. He smiled.

"What, Janel Is this true? Is such really the state of
matters between you and Rivers?"

"Absolutely, sir. Oh, you need not be jealous! I wanted to
tease you a little to make you less sad : I thought anger would
be better than grief. But if you wish me to love you, could you
but see how much I do love you, you would be proud and con-
tent. All my heart is yours, sir : it belongs to you ; and with
you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your
presence forever."

Again, as he kissed me, painful thoughts darkened his aspect.

"My seared vision! My crippled strength!" he murmured
regretfully.

I caressed, in order to sopthe him. I knew of what he was

( thinking, and wanted to speak for him; but dared not. As he

turned aside his face a minute, I saw a tear slide from under the

sealed eyelid, and trickle down the manly face. My heart

swelled.

" I am no better than the old lightning-struck chestnut-tree in
Thornfield orchard," he remarked, ere long. "And what right
would that ruin have to bid a budding woodbine cover its decay
with freshness?"

"You are no ruin, 6ir— no lightning-struck tree: you are
green and vigorous. Plants will grow about your roots, whether
you ask them or not, because they take delight in your bountiful
shadow ; and as they grow they will lean towards you, and wind
round you, because your strength offers them so safe a prop."

Again he smiled : I gave him comfort.

" You speak of friends, Jane?" he asked.

"Yes, of friends," I answered rather hesitatingly: for I knew
I meant more than friends, but could not tell what other word to
employ. He helped me.

" Ah ! Jane. But I want a wife."

"Do you, sir?"

" Yes : is it news to you ?"

" Of course : you said nothing about it before."

" Is it unwelcome news ?"

376 JANE EYRE.

"That depends on circumstances, sir — on your choice."

"Which you shall make for me, Jane, I will abide by your
decision."

" Choose then, sir — her who loves you best."

" 1 will at least choose — her I love best. Jane, will you marry
me?"

"Yes, sir."

"A poor blind man, whom you will have to lead about by the
hand."

"Yes, sir."

"A crippled man, twenty years older than you, whom you will
have to wait on ?"

"Yes, sir."

"Truly, Jane?'*

"Most truly, sir."

" Oh ! my darling ! God bless you and reward you !"

" Mr. Rochester, if ever I did a good deed in my life — if ever I
thought a good thought — if ever I prayed a sincere and blame-
less prayer — if ever I wished a righteous wish — I am rewarded
now. To be your wife is, for me, to be as happy as I can be on
earth."

" Because you delight in sacrifice."

" Sacrifice ! What do I sacrifice ? Famine for food, expecta-
tion for content. To be privileged to put my arms round what I
value — to press my lips to what I love — to repose on what I
trust : is that to make a sacrifice ? If so, then certainly I delight
in sacrifice."

"And to bear with my infirmities, Jane: to overlook my
deficiencies."

"Which are none, sir, to me. I love you better now, when I
can really be useful to you, than I did in your state of proud
independence, when you disdained every part but that of the
giver and protector."

" Hitherto I have hated to be helped — to be led : henceforth, I
feel, I shall hate it no more. I did not like to put my hand into
a hireling's, but it is pleasant to feel it circled by Jane's little
fingers. I preferred utter loneliness to the constant attendance
of servants; but Jane's soft ministry will be a perpetual joy.
Jane suits me : do I suit her?"

" To the finest fibre of my nature, sir."

" The case being so, we have nothing in the world to wait for:
we must be married instantly."

He looked and spoke with eagerness : his old impetuosity was
rising.

" We must become one flesh without any delay, Jane : there is
but the licence to get— then we marry."

JANE EYRE. 377

" Mr. Rochester, I have just discovered the sun is far declined
from its meridian, and Pilot is actually gone home to his dinner.
Let me look at your watch."

" Fasten it into your girdle, Janet, and keep it henceforward ;
I have no use for it."

" It is nearly four o'clock in the afternoon, sir. Don't you feel
hungry?"

"The third day from this must be our wedding-day, Jane.
Never mind fine clothes and jewels, now : all that is not worth a
fillip."

"The sun has dried up all the rain-drops, sir. The breeze is
still: it is quite hot."

" Do you know, Jane, I have your little pearl necklace at this
moment fastened round my bronze scrag under my cravat ? I
have worn it since the day I lost my only treasure as a memento
of her."

"We will go home through the wood: that will be the
shadiest way.

He pursued his own thoughts without heeding me.

"Jane 1 you think me, I dare say, an irreligious dog: but my
heart swells with gratitude to the beneficent God of this earth
just now. He sees not as man sees, but far clearer : judges not
as man judges, but far more wisely. I did wrong: I would
have sullied my innocent flower — breathed guilt on its purity:
the Omnipotent snatched it from me. I, in my stiff-necked
rebellion, almost cursed the dispensation: instead of bending to
the decree, I defied it. Divine justice pursued its course ; dis-
asters came thick on me: I was forced to pass through the
valley of the shadow of death. His chastisements are mighty ;
and one smote me which has humbled me for ever. You know
I was proud of my strength : but what is it now, when I must
give it over to foreign guidance, as a child does its weakness ?
Of late, Jane — only — only — of late— I began to see and acknow-
ledge the hand of God in my doom. I began to experience
remorse, repentance ; the wish for reconcilement to my Maker.
I began sometimes to pray: very brief prayers they were, but
very sincere.

" Some days since: nay, I can remember them — four; it was
last Monday night, a singular mood came over me: one in
which grief replaced frenzy — sorrow, sullenness. I had long had
the impression that since I could nowhere find you, you must
be dead. Late that night — perhaps it might be between eleven
and twelve o'clock — ere I retired to my dreary rest, I supplicated
God, that, if it seemed good to Him, I might soon be taken from
this life, and admitted into that world to come where there was
still hope of rejoining Jane.

" I was in my own room, and sitting by the window, which was
open : it soothed me to feel the balmy night-air; though I could

378 JANE EYRE.

see no stars and only by a vague, luminous haze knew the pre-
sence of a moon. I longed for thee, Janet ! Oh, I longed for
thee both with soul and flesh ! I asked of God, at once in
anguish and humility, if I had not been long enough desolate,
afflicted, tormented ; and might not soon taste bliss and peace
once more. That I merited all I endured, I acknowledged— that
I could scarcely endure more, I pleaded; and the alpha and
omega of my heart's wishes broke involuntarily from my lips in
the words — ' Jane ! Jane ! Jane !' "

" Did you speak these words aloud ?"

" I did, Jane. If any listener had heard me, he would have
thought me mad : I pronounced them with such frantic energy."

11 And it was last Monday night : somewhere near midnight ?"

"Yes; but the time is of no consequence: what followed is
the strange point. You will think me superstitious — some super-
stition I have in my blood, and always had : nevertheless, this is
true— true at least it is that I heard what I now relate.

. "As I exclaimed 'Jane! Jane! Jane!' a voice — I cannot tell
whence the voice came, but I know whose voice it was — replied,
' I am coming : wait for me ;' and a moment after went whisper-
ing on the wind, the words — ' Where are you?'

"I'll tell you, if I can, the idea, the picture these words
opened to my mind ; yet it is difficult to express what I want
to express. Ferndean is buried, as you see, in a heavy wood,
where sound falls dull, and dies unreverberating. ' Where are
you ?' seemed spoken amongst mountains ; for I heard a hill-
sent echo repeat the words. Cooler and fresher at the moment
the gale seemed to visit my brow: I could have deemed that
in some wild, lone scene I and Jane were meeting. In spirit, I
believe we must have met. You no doubt were, at that hour, in
unconscious sleep, Jane : perhaps your soul wandered from its
cell to comfort mine ; for those were your accents — as certain as
I live — they were yours !"

Reader, it was on Monday night — near midnight— that I too
had received the mysterious summons : those were the very
words by which I replied to it. I listened to Mr. Rochester's
narrative ; but made no disclosure in return. The coinci-
dence struck me as too awful and inexplicable to be com-
municated or discussed. If I told anything, my tale would be
such as must necessarily make a profound impression on the
mind of my hearer : and that mind, yet from its sufferings too
prone to gloom, needed not the deeper shade of the super-
natural. I kept these things then, and pondered them in my
heart.

" You cannot now wonder," continued my master, " that when
you rose upon me so unexpectedly last night, I had difficulty in
believing you any other than a mere voice and vision : something
that would melt to silence and annihilation, as the midnight

JANE EYRE. 379

whisper and mountain echo had melted before. Now, I thank
God ! I know it to be otherwise. Yes, I thank God !"

He put me off his knee, rose, and reverently lifting his hat from
his brow, and bending his sightless eyes to the earth, he stood in
mute devotion. Only the last words of the worship were audible.

" I thank my Maker, that in the midst of judgment He has
remembered mercy. I humbly entreat my Redeemer to give me
strength to lead henceforth a purer life than I have done
hitherto I"

Then he stretched his hand out to be led. I took that dear
hand, held it a moment to my lips, then let it pass round my
shoulder: being so much lower of stature than he, I served both
for his prop and guide. We entered the wood, and wended
homeward.

CHAPTER XXXVIII
CONCLUSION.

READER, I married him. A quiet wedding we had : he and
I, the parson and clerk, were alone present. When we
Sot back from church, I went into the kitchen of the Manor
[ouse, where Mary was cooking the dinner, and John cleaning
the knives, and I said :

" Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning."

The housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent
phlegmatic order of people, to whom one may at any time safely
communicate a remarkable piece of news without incurring the
danger of having one's ears pierced by some shrill ejaculation,
and subsequently stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment.
Mary did look up, and she did stare at me : the ladle with which
she was basting a pair of chickens roasting at the fire did for
some three minutes hang suspended in air; and for the same
space of time John's knives also had rest from the polishing
process : but Mary, bending again over the roast, said only :

" Have you, Miss ? Well, for sure I"

A short time after she pursued: " I seed you go out with the
master, but I didn't know you were gone to church to be wed;"
and she basted away. John, when I turned to him, was grinning
from ear to ear.

" I telled Mary how it would be," he said : " I knew what Mr.
Edward" (John was an old servant, and had known his master
when he was the cadet of the house, therefore he often gave him
his Christian name) — " I knew what Mr. Edward would do; and
I was certain he would not wait long neither: and he's done

380 JANE EYRE.

right for aught I know. I wish you joy, Miss 1" and he politely
pulled his forelock.

"Thank you, John. Mr. Rochester told me to give you and
Mary this." I put into his hand a five-pound note. Without
waiting to hear more, I left the kichen. In passing the door of
the sanctum some time after, I caught the words :

" She'll happen do better for him nor ony o' t' grand ladies."
And again, "If she ben't one o' th' handsomest she's noan faal
and varry good-natured; and i' his een she's fair beautiful,
onybody may see that."

I wrote to Moor House and to Cambridge immediately, to say
what I had done : fully explaining also why I had thus acted.
Diana and Mary approved the step unreservedly. Diana an-
nounced that she would just give me time to get over the honey-
moon, and then she would come and see me.

" She had better not wait till then, Jane," said Mr. Rochester,
when I read her letter to him ; " if she does she will be too late,
for our honeymoon will shine our life-long : its beams will only
fade over your grave or mine."

How St. John received the news I don't know; he never
answered the letter in which I communicated it : yet six months
after he wrote to me ; without, however, mentioning Mr. Roches-
ter's name, or alluding to my marriage. His letter was then
calm : and, though very serious, kind. He has maintained a
regular, though not frequent correspondence ever since : he
hopes I am happy, and trusts I am not of those who live
without God in the world, and only mind earthly things.

You have not quite forgotten little Adele, have you, reader ? I
had not ; I soon asked and obtained leave of Mr. Rochester to
go and see. her at the school where he had placed her. Her
frantic joy at beholding me again moved me much. She looked
pale and thin : she said she was not happy. I found the rules of
the establishment were too strict, its course of study too severe,
for a child of her age: I took her home with me. I meant to
become her governess once more ; but I soon found this imprac-
ticable ; my time and cares were now required by another— my
husband needed them all. So I sought out a school conducted
op a more indulgent system ; and near enough to permit of my
visiting her often, and bringing her home sometimes. I took
care she should never want for anything that could contribute to
her comfort : she soon settled in her new abode, became very
happy there, and made fair progress in her studies. As she
grew up, a sound English education corrected in a great measure
her French defects ; and when she left school, I found in her a
pleasing and obliging companion: docile, good-tempered, and
well-principled. By her grateful attention to me and mine, she
has long since well repaid any little kindness I ever had it in my
power to offer her.

My tale draws to its close : one word respecting my experience

JANE EYRE. 381

of married life, and one brief glance at the fortunes of those
whose names have most frequently recurred in this narrative, and
I have done.

I have now been married ten years. I know what it is tp live
entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself
supremely blest — blest beyond what language can express;
because I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine. No
woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am : ever more
absolutely bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh. I know no
weariness of my Edward's society : he knows none of mine, any
more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in
our separate bosoms ; consequently, we are ever together. To
be together is for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay
as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long : to talk to each
other is but a more animated and an audible thinking. All my
confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to
me ; we are precisely suited in character — perfect concord is the
result.

Mr. Rochester continued blind the first two years of our union.
Perhaps it was that circumstance that drew us so very near—
that knit us so very close ! for I was then his vision, as I am still
his right hand. Literally, I was (what he often called me) the
apple of his eye. He saw Nature— he saw books — through me;
and never did I weary of gazing for his behalf, and of putting
into words the effect of field, tree, town, river, cloud, sunbeam —
of the landscape before us, of the weather round us — and impress-
ing by sound on his ear what light could no longer stamp on his
eye. Never did I weary of reading to him ; never did I weary of
conducting him where he wished to go ; of doing for him what he
wished to be done. And there was a pleasure in my services,
most full, most exquisite, even though sad — because he claimed
these services without painful shame or damping humiliation.
He loved me so truly, that he knew no reluctance in profiting by
my attendance : he felt I loved him so fondly, that to yield that
attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes.

One morning at the end of the two years, as I was writing a
letter to his dictation, he came and bent over me, and said :

"Jane, have you a glittering ornament round your neck?"
I had a gold watch-chain. I answered, "Yes."
" And you have a pale blue dress on ?"

I had. He informed me then, that for some time he had
fancied the obscurity clouding one eye was becoming less dense,
and that now he was sure of it.

He and I went up to London. He had the advice of an
eminent oculist ; and he eventually recovered the sight of that
one eye. He cannot now see very distinctly; he cannot read or
write much ; but he can find his way without being led by the
hand : the sky is no longer a blank to him— the eartn no longer

382 JANE EYRE.

a void. When his first-born was put into his arms, he could see
that the boy had inherited his own eyes, as they once were —
large, brilliant, and black. On that occasion, he again, with a
full heart, acknowledged that God had tempered judgment with
mercy.

My Edward and I, then, are happy; and the more so, because
those we most love are happy likewise. Diana and Mary Rivers
are both married. Alternately, once every year, they come to
see us, and we go to see them. Diana's husband is a Captain in
the Navy — a gallant officer and a good man. Mary's is a clergy-
man, a college friend of her brother's, and, from his attainments
and principles, worthy of the connection. Both Captain Fitz-
james and Mr. Wharton love their wives, and are loved by them.

As to St. John Rivers, he left England. He went to India.
He entered on the path he had marked for himself; he pursues
it still. A more resolute, indefatigable pioneer never wrought
amidst rocks and dangers. Firm, faithful, and devoted: full of
energy, and zeal, and truth ; he labours for his race. He clears
their painful way to improvement ; he hews down like a giant the
prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it. He may be
stern ; he may be exacting : he may be ambitious yet ; but his is
the sternness of the warrior Greatheart, who guards his pilgrim
convoy from the onslaughts of Apollyon. His is the exaction of
the apostle, who speaks but for Christ, when he says — " Whoso-
ever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his
cross and follow me." His is the ambition of the high master-
spirit, which aims to fill a place in the first rank of those who are
redeemed from the earth — who stand without fault before the
throne of God ; who share the last mighty victories of the Lamb :
who are called, and chosen, and faithful.

St. John is unmarried : he never will marry now. Himself has
hitherto sufficed to the toil ; and the toil draws near its close :
his glorious sun hastens to its setting. The last letter I received
from him drew from my eyes human tears, and yet filled my heart
with Divine joy : he anticipated his sure reward, his incorruptible
crown. I know that a stranger's hand will write to me next, to
say that the good and faithful servant has been called at length
into the joy of his Lord. And why weep for this ? No fear of
death will darken St. John's last hour: his mind will be
unclouded : his heart will be undaunted ; his hope will be sure ;
his faith steadfast. His own words are a pledge of this.

"My Master," he says, "has forewarned me. Daily He
announces more distinctly — 'Surely I come quickly!' And
hourly I more eagerly respond — ' Amen : even so come, Lord
Jesus!' "

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